I'm not sure exactly why I'm doing what I'm about to do. I've had to write college essays, and there is always that ever-popular "free-topic" that most people get stuck on. You'd figure that as someone who enjoys to write, that would be no problem. Especially when I have an exact topic in mind. However, it's harder to write about myself and explain myself.. to come up with answers that don't exist now as they didn't exist then. I look back on last year, and it feels as though it never happened, as if it was some sort of really fucked up dream that I'm glad is over. However, when I see that 2.4 GPA and that 149/321 class rank (yes, I dropped 100 class ranks in one year), when I see that I attended summer school for ENGLISH, and when I see that what could have been was completely destroyed, I can't help but acknowledge the fact that I was really in bad shape last year, and that it fucked with everything that I could have had going for me. So many people have asked me why, why why why why why, would I do what I did. Why did I let myself fall as far as I did. Why did I always look so dewy eyed. Why did I always look so tired. Why was I never on time, why I was never in school anyway. Why I never did any work. Why I looked so sad...

I can't give answers. I can't even answer those questions for myself.

However, in the process of trying to uncover those emotions I felt, I found a lot of old writing of mine. Following this extremely long introduction, is a journal entry I scribbled while in bed in the beginning of January. I was 16. I was in the middle of a suicide attempt (prescription tranquilizers). I'm taking a risk with exposing this information, but I doubt many people read this to begin with, and those who do, I wouldn't mind letting them know. I just thought that this little piece was interesting, in all of it's badly written, unedited glory.

It's just a glimpse of how I was feeling.

It's just a small fraction of what I went through day to day.

I was drowsy..

And please comment, so I don't feel like everything here is a waste. Thanks if you even read this far.

I promised myself I wouldn't do this again. I promised myself that I would never sit on my bed and look at this bottle again. I promised myself I wouldn't count each individual pink pill out loud over and over again… 1 2 3 4, 1 2 3 4, 65. I promised myself I wouldn't cry another tear for this, for this purpose. I promised myself I wouldn't fill a glass of water, no ice because I was already shivering. I promised myself I wouldn't write notes again. I promised myself I would throw out the old notes, and here I am shuffling through my drawer to find them. I promised myself I would never read them. I promised myself I would never go as far as to revise them. I most certainly promised myself that I wouldn't swallow one. 64.

I suppose this makes me a liar. 63.

It's so hard, especially now, to be strong. I really have no one to turn to; everyone that I have ever cared about has abandoned me. As much as I hate this realization, if I were put in their position, I'd abandon me too. I'm a lost cause. Everything in my life has been and always will be a lost cause. Reaching my goals is a lost cause. Finding peace within myself is a lost cause. Sleeping at night is a lost cause. Writing this is a lost cause. Living at this point is a lost cause.

I wish it were easier for me. On the outside, life is tolerable. Looking in, it isn't. No matter what is handed to me, or what is given to me, life will always be hard. I make it hard for myself. So many people go out of their way to help me cope, and I do nothing. I expect it to all be okay, without any effort. I am far too depressed to put effort into anything now. 62.

With no one to turn to, or any voice on the other line, survival seems hopeless. The most difficult battle any soldier will ever fight is an internal one. Imagine the places that you can hide from yourself: there are none. The only place to hide seems to be within some sort of cask, whether it be that of a gun or that of a bottle of prescription tranquilizers, and this is the unfortunate truth. How does one escape their thoughts? Their own persistence? How does one hush those over domineering thoughts screaming the bad things? You don't. You lay in your bed, clenching the pillow, hoping it will all go away and that you will eventually sleep. Those bags under your eyes give it away. Battle scars. The worst kind of insomnia is when you are so tired but you can not sleep. You cry it is so painful to stay awake, but you keep yourself up. You wish to escape suffering, but you induce it. You are two different people. If there was a hell, it would be my heart, and Satan is dictating the beat. 61.

I promised myself I would never think like this again, and for a while I haven't. I knew that my only best friends were gone and that I would not be able to control myself. I promised myself that I would remember this. I promised myself that I would keep certain numbers on speed dial. I promised myself I would never wail into the pillow. I promised myself that the only tears I would taste would those be of joy. I promised myself I would put the goddamn pen down. I promised myself I would never think of ways to say goodbye, because goodbye is so far away. 60.

Why am I such a liar? 59.

Getting… knocked… out. I win, for now. I promised myself I wouldn't die. I went slowly, and now I am drowsy. I promised myself I would go slowly, that I wouldn't let me win. I didn't lie tonight, but I will soon. I turn 17 soon; I have one year left according to my prediction. I promised myself I would find a will to live, a person, a friend, anything. They do not exist. I promised myself… I promised myself so many things. 58.

Please do not make me a liar. Put the pen down. I promised myself I wouldn't do this again. Now I sleep, only to wake up to this all over again. I need God to send his angel down for me, dark or light, death or life. I do not care anymore, just take me to one extreme or the other, but do not keep me in between. Save me. 57.

Goodnight.