I had thought about death. In fact, I thought about it a lot. A lot more than any sixteen year old girl should. Every night, I'd lie awake and dream of ways…ways I could just end it. I wouldn't say I'm suicidal, at least not anymore…but I still imagine.
I'm standing on a skyscraper in New York City, and I close my eyes, simply waiting for the breeze to push me off. As I fall, I dive, I miss swimming. I open my eyes and I'm 50 feet to the ground, I close them again. I take a deep breath and softly whisper "I'm sorry."
And that's when I wake up, right before the tumble. I know what I'd wear that day. My sundress that mom got me a year ago. Floral, seems so classy for a suicide, right? I just hope I never make it to New York to try it.
Years ago, things happened. Things happened that I could not express how they hurt, and how they pained me to this very day. But, who wants to know about a girl's inner feelings, correct? I think I'll hide it forever. I'm getting pretty good at hiding my depression. If that's what it is, what I am…
I'd like to say there's hope for me, but I'm not sure anymore. You can't get help if you never admit the problem, right? I'll never admit the problem and that in and of itself, is a problem. I wish I could say it, to one person. But then I'd have to reveal my secrets.
And secrets are meant to be hidden. Secrets are secrets. Secrets…can become lies, when you try to hide them. I'm a liar. Compulsive. Just because my secrets, all of them.
I wonder, will I ever find hope? Will it be in a package? A person? Something? I just need something that will help me look forward to tomorrow.