I am not writing this for fame or for glory, but as an outlet of my own emotions.

I need people out there to understand that depression is serious and if it isn't handled properly, if there is no coping method, so many consequences may occur.

Writing is my coping method, and hopefully this will bring me ease, even if it's the slightest bit of happiness, it's always one less tear for me to shed. Hence, at the same time, I require your support.

Thank you for reading, and please, if you know of someone who is in desperate need of help, be there for them.

Love, MannyCake.

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Prologue; Home.

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The dim candle beside me flickers; it was dark, but just enough so that I could see. I sit at my desk, staring at the messy thick pile of paper in front of me. A glass of hot water sat beside the half empty box of tissues. Crumpled balls of paper and wet napkin scattered across the tables and floors, and just in the corner, a framed photograph of Juvia, Levy and I; hugging. Juvia was in her graduation robes. Tsk tsk, she beat me to it. We made a bet on who would be first to graduate. Levy came first, then Juvia, and I'd soon follow next semester. The three of us had such wide toothy smiles; we looked so happy.

I looked so happy.

And trust me, I was.

But I remember that day. Obviously, it's irrelevant now, but back then it hurt. Conflict, with other people and to be honest, it could have been avoided. Seeing them there at the ceremony made me gag. They didn't come for Juvia, they reluctantly showed up, just for the photos, so they can show the world that 'They're her friends too'. To me, it was utterly repulsive.

But that didn't matter. I was still there for her, and I knew that our friendship was real.

The happiness we shared that day was real.

I miss that. To smile and laugh so genuinely and have my heart flutter with happiness.

To feel giddy and excited over the little things.

It was fun while it lasted; being that ball of sunshine to everyone.

But now, the tables have turned so drastically.

All I can do is fake a smile and carry on with my day, yet deep down, I'm constantly battling myself for my own life.

'Kill yourself'.

'You're worthless'

'No one would care if you died.'

The whispers in my head get louder, it's just constant pain.

Dipping my pen into the inkpot, the dark tip glides against the white sheet.

'My chest burns.'

'It's so immense.'

'Like pulling broken shards from my heart.'

'Picking on them, one at a time.'

'Fingertips bleeding with every glass piece.'

'I can't stop my tears from flowing, my body from aching. Everything inside of me is broken, and all I can do is continue to pray. I can't sleep, I can't eat. I wake up late; mum and dad probably think I'm useless.'

'I probably am.'

A tear trickles down my cheek, landing on the piece of paper, soaking through the sheet, and smudging the fresh ink.

My hands shake. Laying them on the table, I crumple that very page in between my fist and shoved aside everything on the table. Pages up in mid-air, the bottle of ink spilled onto the rug. I banged my head against the wooden table, sobbing my heart out. Moping murderously, my left wrist felt that itchy pulse again, just under the bottom of my palm. Aching for pressure, I grab it with my other hand and dig my thumbnail straight into where my veins popped out. It never left cuts, or any sort of marks. Thankfully, I didn't grow out my nails, otherwise I would have questionable looks from everyone in my family.

But the pain didn't stop there.

Before I knew it, a sharp pain strikes my heart, just as I wrote it.

'Here comes the shards'

So deep, so painful, all I could ever think of was picking up a knife and stabbing it straight through my heart.

I wished someone could do it for me.

I genuinely wanted to die.

I wanted it so bad.

All those times I've sat up on my rooftop, leaning forward felt so exhilarating.

If only I could just…

Let go.

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A hand smacked the back of my neck, startling me in my sleep. 'Mum.' I grumble. Ugh. Jolting up, I prep myself and straighten my back. My neck was sore, I wanted to crack it, but mum hated that. My vision was still rather blurry, but they soon clear up. She was going on and on about something, but to be fair, I personally didn't even catch half of what she was saying. Something along the lines of 'you're a mess' and 'stained rug'. Ah shoot. She just dry cleaned that as well.

"I must have knocked it over, sorry"

She gruntled at me, her face turns a little sour, she rolled her eyes.

"You keep sleeping in; bad juju. Have you been like this all uni?"

"Mum, I just had a long night. I wasn't this bad at least, back there"

"You've become such a slob without me. Maybe I should have had you study somewhere closer"

"Hey, I liked Magnolia, even if you and dad had problems"

"Whatever. Well, nevertheless. You're done. And you're home now for good."

'For good.'

"Y-yeah mum." I turn away and stare out the window. Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly. It feels like there's a gaping hole in my chest.

"What's wrong?"

I hold back my tears. Forcing a smile, I shake my head.

"Nothing, really, why?". Lifting an eyebrow, she's hesitant. She puts a palm on my shoulder, lifting the loose top that's been sliding down my arm and resecures it.

"Lucy, dear. You can tell me"

I roll my eyes playfully and let out a soft giggle. I take her hand that was on my shoulder and hold it tight, kissing it ever so softly.

"Mama, I'm fine. Now, let me go clean up, I'll shower, then we can go get food"

She lets out a sigh. Nodding her head, she walks out the room. I look down at the floor. pages were still scattered around the floor, and I have no idea how I'm going to get that stain out of my rug; might have to chuck it. Bending down, I pick up my mess. Something fell from between the pages; a small polaroid, one that I normally keep on the side of my desk. It's been a while since I've ever seen it, really.

It was a polaroid of me in the parking lot. It was dark, but the flash from the camera made us the focal point of the image. My hair was in a long, loose braid, back before I cut it short. My arm extended shyly, reaching over towards a man's arm; he wore an oversized denim jacket, with a cotton hoodie over his head that only just covered his bright pink hair. Parts of his fringe peaked from under it. Neither of us smiled in the photo, but in reality, we both were at our happiest that night.

How bittersweet.

If only I could feel that happiness once more.

I hadn't even realised how wet my cheeks were, but I did feel the burning flames in my chest.

Oh, how the year went by so fast.

How did I finish so quick?

Feels like this photo was only taken yesterday, but that was 8 months ago.

'miss you…'

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It's literally only been 5 weeks since I've left Magnolia, and being home, surrounded by the people who love me. I mean, I'm supposed to be enjoying this. I've missed everyone so much; all my family and friends. My cousins, childhood besties. Even a new line of guys; grandma and auntie Aquarius have been at it again. Trying to play cupid. They've never stopped, and at first it was funny, but now this was getting tiring.

Even though I'm home, I still seem to suffer.

I gently place my fingers overtop of the white tiles, my fingertips gliding over them. I press down softly, listening to the one key.

My left thumb and pinky extend, reaching out to play an A octave, whilst my right hand play an Aadd7. My right foot slowly steps on the pedal, sustaining the beautiful note.

Simple, but pretty.

There was something so alluring, so genuine, and calming about piano. Something that touches my heart. It soothes me, makes me feel like I'm lost in my own world.

It's beautifully painful.

Don't get me wrong, I've played piano all my life. When I was a little girl, there was so much mum and dad wanted out of me. I had to be their perfect daughter; a model, a figure, so they could show the world how proud they are of me. And deep down, I know they are, even though it doesn't feel like it. But nevertheless, it didn't help that my childhood was a pain, and before I knew it, I began to hate the instrument.

Piano lessons, 3 times a week.

Dance lessons, twice a week.

Ballet, as if it wasn't the same as dance, twice a week.

I never had an actual vocal lesson, but that didn't stop mum from teaching me herself.

If I received anything under eighty percent in school, there would be punishments.

I had to learn to speak, to bribe, to negotiate at 10.

To read, to write, to present.

I had to be a role model towards the other kids.

Then, the real modelling began. Yes, mum trained me to 'walk'. Runway walk, that is. Imagine all those blisters and cuts around your ankles. There's a dark black bruise around that area, it never went away. Life had always been stressful.

Trust me, they did give me freedom; dad bought me a bike, and I used to run away with my friends and ride towards the nearest ice cream shop.

Dad bought me art supplies all the time. Looks like I had a natural gift of painting.

Mum and dad loved me, but they expect so much. And sometimes, I felt like the pressure was overwhelming, and it's always been like that.

This wasn't the first time I've felt so depressed.

I was 8 when I realised that I couldn't speak my native language as fluent as English. I just moved back home, and this language barrier really put me in a difficult spot. I couldn't study in school. I had no idea what the teachers were saying, I never did my homework because it was all gibberish to me. No one talked to me, they literally couldn't. No one helped me. And there I failed a year of school; I was meant to repeat it really. All my friends would ascend to the fourth grade, whilst I'd stay back in third. I felt like a failure. I felt worthless and useless.

That was when I first started climbing onto my rooftop.

I mean, I've always been interested in astronomy and celestial spirits. I've always been fond of the stars and the planets. What's beyond our world. And I would normally stare out my bedroom window every night before bed, drawing out the constellations in my drawing book.

But that night, I wanted to get a closer look.

Initially, I thought it would calm me down. But something felt so exhilarating about being up there; like you were on top of the world. You were in the skies. And it was beautiful.

I felt so free.

Like I belonged there.

If only I could jump up and fly away.

Maybe my pain we disappear…

If I just…

Leaned…

Forward-

I grasp a metal bar that was on the side of my roof. That was close. I don't know how, but my foot nearly slipped off one of the roof tiles.

My heart pounded, and I finally realised what I had nearly just done.

'I could have died…'

Eight years old, stupid and suicidal.

You don't find people like me that very often do you.

I quickly climbed back into my room, and lucky I did. Around ten minutes later, papa walked in to check on me. He sat at the foot of the bed, my body facing the other way. He leaned forward to stroke my hair out of the way. I prayed he wouldn't feel the wet tears on my cheek, but with the way he pulled his hand away, probably to examine his fingertips, I bet he did.

"Mum may be disappointed in you, but I never will be."

He thought I was asleep.

"This is a process for you. You fell, and that's fine. But you can get back up, and keep running, little doll."

'Yeah dad, I nearly fell for real just now.'

He brushed a strand of my hair away from my face.

"Papa will save you. Don't worry. Papa will always be here."

And fast forward, he did.

Guess what? He tipped my teacher. Didn't know how much he paid, but I bet it wasn't much to him, but it was just enough to get me off the hook. The things money can do for you, right?

But coming back to the present, I still do tend to climb up to the rooftop. Sometimes, I still feel that same fear of failure haunting me, and I still yearn to feel that freedom of-

-well, leaning forward off the rooftop and picturing your own death.

I wonder how it would feel.

Would my body go splat?

The sound of the banging piano keys startled me, snapping me back into reality. It was my little sister, Plue. Yes, that's a nickname; the way she acts was just so adorable, reminded of a little puppy. Canis minor may be a simple constellation, but when you finally see it in the sky, despite all the other bigger constellations which may overshadow, it brought happiness to my heart.

'Remember when you took him star gazing with you that night-'

Stop. It will only bring you pain-

Too late. Within no time, I felt the strike of emotions flood me, like fire raging in my chest. Why. Why was I reminded of his…

…beauty,

His gentleness.

His rowdiness.

His obnoxiousness…

…he was even willing to sit there under the stars with me that night; even though he probably had no clue what he was staring at.

But I still recall his pretty pink hair tickling my cheek as he laid in my arms on the beach. The two of us staring deep into the sky. Well, at least I was; little did I knew, he was staring at me.

Stop reminiscing.

I was choking again, and my eyes were going to burst. I can't let that happen. I can't.

I can't-

"Lucy dear? I'm going to the shops. Come take me?"

'Act normal'

"Coming mum-"

Doesn't it feel 'so' good to be back home?

Tsk.

Let's play a game, shall we? How long can I go before I break?

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Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for the next chapter.

MannyCake.