I was once on the top of the world. Well, my world that is. A few wine coolers and stupid, stupid mistakes later, I plummeted all the way to the bottom. No one dared look me in the eye for fear of catching the "baby germ" or whatever the hell that was. I was scum, the spoiled tomato at the very bottom of the barrel that no one wanted even a little piece of.

Or so I thought.

While I was wallowing in my own misery, I became so self-absorbed and so very, very sick. That led me not to notice the tiny little changes going on around me. Instead of being above and beyond everyone and everything, I was surrounded by people who cared. I never took the time to appreciate the small little things that people did for me, and it's something I truly regret. When Artie and Mercedes sang that song to Finn and I in Glee Club, I had never felt more accepted or loved in my entire life.

I was always a daddy's girl. If there was ever something I wanted, I would run straight to my father and beg and plead on my knees until I received what I wanted. Spoiled, some might say, but I just say determined. When I told my father that I was pregnant, and he kicked me out of my own house, the place where I grew up and which held so many memories for me, I lost myself. My daddy didn't want me anymore. That, some might say, would be enough to make a person want to kill themselves. But I wasn't just responsible for my own life, I was responsible for the little baby that was growing inside of me, too. So, I turned to my Lord for guidance. I knelt down by the make-shift bed in the Hudson's house every single night, and prayed for the strength to carry on. Because even though my dad didn't love me anymore, and Finn probably wouldn't after he found out that the baby wasn't his, I had to keep going because someone, somewhere had to be listening. I was convinced I was going to get that fairytale ending.

After Beth was born, I spent that entire summer reinventing myself. No boys, no stupid decisions, no distractions. I lost all of that excess weight, I regained my head Cheerio status, and I was completely looking forward to an excellent year, filled with no drama. But how wrong I was.

Sam Evans. That's where it all went wrong. I thought I could be strong, that I could restrain from any nonsense that could potentially ruin everything that I had built up, every wall, every barrier. But then Sam came in like a fucking knight in shining armor, with his golden locks, dreamy voice, and stupid, stupid promise rings. That's all it took, just one boy. And suddenly, I wasn't strong anymore. My mother kept obsessing and obsessing over me, telling me how wonderful I was, and that I was definitely going to win Junior Prom Queen this year with a boy like Samuel Evans on my arm. I let the compliments get to my head. I was back on top, my grades were stellar, I had a wonderful piece of arm candy with a strict look-but-don't-touch policy. Mother showed me her tiara collection, and like every girl, the glitz and shine of the diamonds and crystals plagued my mind, infecting me with a horrible disease that I like to call "Prom Queen-itis."

I wasn't right. Someone should have reached out and helped me. But by the time someone did, it was too late.

The slap. Oh, the slap. One of the things I regret most about these past few years is slapping poor Rachel Berry, one of the only people I can really trust. I feel terrible for all the things that I've done to her over the past few years, but really- I was jealous. She had natural beauty, whereas I had to have procedures done to make me look even remotely beautiful. I starved myself. I refused to let myself eat, because I just had to fit into that perfect prom dress. And there was Rachel. So stunning, without even trying. And when she came to me, asking permission to get a nose job- my nose, who was I to say no?

I was sick. So sick. I couldn't even bring myself to feel sorry for poor Kurt, who had just been humiliated in front of the entire school. No, I was too self-absorbed, and I had just fucking slapped Rachel, one of the people I respect the most. She can be annoying at times, of course, but she was so ambitious. And I envied her. I thought that I was never going to get out of Lima, never going to make anything of myself. But she would go on to live her dreams, I just knew it, and I just couldn't take it anymore. Why her, and not me?

That's all I would ask myself. Why not me? But the answer was right in front of me, and I didn't pay attention. I wasn't focusing hard enough.

Don't even ask me why or how I became one of the skanks. It seemed to be a good idea at the time. It was my senior year, I was completely depressed, lonely, and just scared out of my mind. So I took up smoking, to ease my pain. I dyed my hair pink, to try and outsource the tiny bit of girly-ness that was still longing to burst out and overtake me. No one wanted me. So why not give them more reason?

I hid behind those dark and disgusting clothes. No one could see that I was actually dying a little more, every day. No one could see that I was taking the still lit ends of the cigarette and pressing it into my skin, in places that no one would find. I was hurting, causing myself pain, but who cared? My mother just kept asking me when the dye was going to wash out. She never offered to take me to talk to anyone. She never tried.

Rachel came to try and convince me that she cared, that the whole Glee Club cared about me, on the very first day of school. But I didn't believe her, I couldn't. If they really cared, they would've tried to help me, wouldn't they? Just because I wasn't being bullied like Kurt, doesn't mean that I'm not a person who could be damaged. When Coach Sue asked me to help sabotage Mr. Schuester, I agreed. Because it's not like he really cared anyway. If I threw some harmful, but truthful words in his face, it might have given me the satisfaction I wanted. But no. He accused me of never being grateful for the things he's done for me, that the whole club has done for me.

His words sliced me to the core. I burned myself so deep that day that I still have a faint scar.

Post-Partum Disorder is what they called it. When Shelby returned to town with Beth, I completely lost myself. I tried everything and anything to be close to Beth, my baby. She was mine, not Shelby's. And I wanted her. So I went blonde again, put on my frilly dresses, and played nice. But with every step I took I was dying a little more inside. When everything fell to shit, I wanted nothing more than to just end my life right there. What was the point?

But Rachel Berry was my savior, my shining gold star in the darkest of nights. She convinced me not to do something that would ruin not one, but two people's lives, and set me on the right track. I found myself again.

I rediscovered God, and what a great entity/being he is, and why I'm still here today, because of him. I got into Yale, an ivy league school, something I never would've dreamed of happening. I was getting out of Lima.

So when I heard the news of Dave Karofsky's attempted suicide, at first, I was sympathetic. But I would never wish that upon anyone, the dark cruel place in which the only escape seems to be death. Then I thought of his father finding him, the heartbreak and suffering. By trying to end his own suffering, he caused so many more people to suffer. And that's why I never went that far.

When Kurt came and said all those things about how they were still writing on facebook page, I understood. No one seems to understand that I went through the same thing, even if the circumstances were different. I then thought of Rachel. How she was the one who saved me. Rachel Berry saved my life. And if I were to kill myself, that would be so selfish of me, especially towards someone who tried so hard to save me.

So, yes, it gets better and all that shit. But it doesn't have to be bad in the first place.