Keely scribbled away in her notebook absent-mindedly. She was hoping to make herself feel better by at least confessing her feelings some way, but it wasn't working.

I almost got hit by a car today, she wrote, while walking back home from school. If Bonnie hadn't pulled me back, it would've creamed me. I guess I didn't see it.

I wish I could say it scared me to realize that I wouldn't have minded dying right there. I didn't really feel scared anyway, like I probably should have. I feel disappointed, in fact. At what, I don't know — the fact that my life is not worth living, the world for creating such an empty life perspective, or the fact that I didn't die. Probably all three.

I'm a burden on my friends and my family. I see them put up a brave front but I know they don't like dealing with me because I seem so whiny. Because I am so whiny, I guess. I've stopped talking to just about everyone because it's too much effort to put a smile on my face and pretend everything's okay because it's not okay. I can't focus anymore. All I do in class is stare at the wall and wonder what happy people are doing.

What's next? How can I enjoy a life completely devoid of pleasures? Smiling is too much of a chore. I hardly even eat. I don't really want to; the pain I get in my stomach helps remind me that I am still alive. I can't even appreciate music or art the same way I used to. I always end up inevitably connecting it somehow to my pathetic life, or failing that, my happy life before it became pathetic, which is actually worse.

I guess that's the main reason why I haven't really reached out to anyone. First off, they'd get alarmed. They'd tell me that my life has meaning (ha! to them maybe, but what about me?), and that they love me very much. After the initial shock would come the sympathy: they would say how sorry they are that I've been feeling so awful about life, and that I should've reached out sooner. But if they really loved me, they would have known something was bothering me!

After the shock and sympathy... I don't know. Probably begging. They would tell me that I shouldn't – no, that I can't kill myself, because there's so much I have to live for. How is this supposed to inspire hope in my life when they say your teenage years are the best you've got? They'd tell me to see a psychiatrist to sort out my feelings, like it was supposed to magically make me feel better about how cruel the world is. God must have a sick sense of humor. Though that's assuming there's a God in the first place.

That in mind... What do you do when nobody has an answer to your questions? Who can you go to when you feel nobody cares? How can I get over these feelings about my life?

The thing is... I don't even want to be over it. I don't have anything beyond these memories, anyway. Not anything worthwhile, at least. And I can't tell anyone about this, certainly not. I'm used to it.

I can't tell if I'm crying out for help right now, or if I'm just tacitly admitting that I really am hopeless... maybe that's what they're doing, too. Maybe my life is just meant to be terrible. Maybe their lives would all be happier without me bringing them down. I depress myself with how annoying I must be to all of them. Ugh I'm so pathetic. Above all else I think I just hate myself.

Keely frowned. Her hand was beginning to cramp up. She dropped the pen and laid down on her bed.

"Stupid hand," she muttered, flexing and stretching her fingers.

The crescent moon peered invasively through her window. Branches from the tree near her window tapped intrusively on the glass. She wrapped a blanket around herself to try and take her mind off the feeling of helplessness that was slowly devouring her.

She cleared her throat and announced to the empty room, "I really miss you, Phil..."