Note: First of all, I don't know if I'm going to make this an actual story. I have another fanfic and a few one-shot ideas so, tell me what you think and if I should continue it in the reviews.

Taylor's POV

Come on, Taylor. Just do it. Just fucking do it.

I stood in the kitchen by myself at around 1 am, constantly telling this to myself. I held the bottle of asprin with trembling hands. I was ready. Or at least I thought I was.

I've been like this for a while, you see. And by "this", I mean depressed and suicidal. I've thought of every possible suicide attempt; jumping in front of a car, hanging myself, throwing myself off a cliff, etc. A little while ago, I chose to go the easy way out. The route with no pain. I don't care if the guys in school called me a pussy for going out like this, I wouldn't be around to hear them.

I probably should provide some back story on how I got to be like this. As a kid, I was always happy. Peppy, hyper, constantly smiling, I was like almost every other kid. Even when I was in my early teenage years I was happy. Everything seemed right in my life. That was until my mom died in a car accident three years ago, when I was fifteen.

After that, my dad changed. And not for the better, for the worse. Before, he never compared me to my brothers. He always said I could be anything I wanted to be. But after this, he was pushing things on me I didn't have the heart to do. He was constantly yelling at me for being the "dumbest kid in the family" and "not good enough."

"Taylor, I just don't get why you can't be like your brothers." He said to me a few days ago.

"Oh god, here we go again, dad. Aren't you tired of constantly bringing me down?"

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"Yeah, you did, Dad. I know what you meant. And I'm sorry I can't be so fucking successful like Chris and Justin and I have to be the lowest scum of the family." I said as I stormed up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door for a bit of a dramatic effect.

You probably think I'm a bit melodramatic for wanting to kill myself because of my dad, but after years of screaming matches, I'm on the edge. Oh, and it's not just my dad. School is hell, too.

"Fucking faggot." Some kid yelled at me when I walked through the hallways today.

I guess they yell crap like that at me because I have piercings and listen to alternative music, unlike everyone else in the school who listens to that rap crap. They never used to do this to me, but after my mom died, I started listening to that kind of music, and that's when they made my school life a living hell.

Because of them yelling shit like "Queer" and "Gay" and "Fag" at me, I don't have many friends. Actually, I only have one, and that's Zac, who's been my best friend since I was thirteen. Even he can't help, because his brother doesn't like him hanging around with me since I'm a "depressed sinner." So it's kind of like I have no support system.

So now, here I stand, in my dark kitchen, alone, with trembling hands. What happened to my plan? I wanted to swallow all the pills in the bottle, lay down on the couch and never wake up. I've been planning this for weeks. Why am I chickening out now?

My face was turning red, and I was starting to get angry. I was angry at myself for hesitating so much. I brought the bottle to my mouth a few times, but I immediately brought it back down, failing each time. It's so easy to swallow a few pills, but something inside of me was pushing me away from those pills.

Then, I got the sudden urge to do it. I knew this would be it. I poured out the pills, put them in my hand, and shoved them in my mouth, about to swallow them. Somehow, my eyes caught the picture of my mom and I when I was ten on the wall. Mom wouldn't want me to be like this. She'd be sad and disappointed.

Ugh, here we go again. I spit the pills out into the sink and washed them down the drain. I was about to go back to bed after my failed suicide attempt when I saw my car keys on the table. Hey, I might as well go for a drive before I have to go back to school tomorrow.

I grabbed the keys and headed out to my car, starting it and eventually driving off. I just drove around town. It was quiet and dark, yet it was peaceful. I drove downtown, going by the old movie theater and guitar shops. All I could think about when I drove around was the pills. I realized, I probably should've swallowed them, then I could at least be with my mom. Now, I'm too tired to do it, so it'll have to wait for another day.

I'm about to head home when I drive by one of the only lit buildings in the town right now. It's the mental hospital. I've driven by this many times, but haven't paid much attention to it. But now, I see it. As weird as it may sound, the lights seemed to be beckoning me on in. Should I go…? No, I'd have to call my dad and deal with him.

I keep driving, but the mental hospital image keeps coming back into my mind. I want to go. Actually, I think I might need to go. I need comfort, I need help.

I turn around in the nearest side street, and head back towards the way of the hospital, not wanting to turn back.