Not every suicidal person starts off suicidal. There’s always something that pulls them to it, whether it be a pathetic, small reason that you make seem big, or some huge event that basically drives you to your depression.

            I don’t really know where I fall in. Maybe the small reason. Maybe the huge reason. Either way, I fall in somewhere.

            Should I tell you the story? Eh, maybe not right now. Maybe I will eventually. But you never know.

            I will tell you that I did try to kill myself, though. It wasn’t very pleasant. But I wanted it. I wanted death. If only I wasn’t so scared of the process to getting there.

             I debated for a long time how to go about it… I chose the classic razor blade to the wrists. Oh, the cliché quality of it. But I chose it. I didn’t want to go with an overdose. When you slit your wrists, at least you’re remembered for having the guts to do it. The stupidity of course, but the courage as well. With a couple bottles of vodka, there’s no courage. Just stupidity.

            Isn’t that hilarious? I was trying to be remembered as brave enough to commit suicide with a blade. Really pathetic, isn’t it?

            So, now you must be wondering, how the hell is this girl alive then? Or maybe, you’re not. Is this getting boring? Oh please, I hope not. Yeah, I hope you noted the sarcasm.

            My mom found me. Yeah. Well, at least now I know that my lock wasn’t working in my bathroom. Now you’re thinking, "This girl is really a retard." Sorry for not thinking straight when I was being driven by the adrenaline of finally saying goodbye to the world. No seriously, no sarcasm there. At least, I don’t think so.

            She dragged me out, probably dialing 911 in the process. I had already lost a suitable amount of blood. She didn’t think I would make it. But I did. I wish I didn’t.

            So I had (and still have) scars. I had (and still have) an overprotective mother. And I was the outcast.

            We moved away. Moved because my mom was scared that I’d try to kill myself again because of the new “environment” I was faced with at school.

            It’s hard to believe it’s only been two months since I moved. I start at my new school in a week. My mom’s been pampering me plenty by buying me clothes, jewelry, shoes, and basically everything. She says she’s helping me get back to how I was before I sunk into depression.

            My clothes aren’t black anymore. I don’t cake on the black eyeliner and lipstick. I’ve got bracelets covering my wrists. It’s almost as if I am back to normal. But that’s only the outside. The inside is still pretty messed up.

            My mom’s been encouraging me to try and make the best of things. I promised her. But she can see that I just want to die.

            She’s told me that finding new hobbies can help me get rid of the depression. Finding new friends. She’s even taken away her “No Boyfriend Until You're Eighteen” rule. I’m almost eighteen (in seven or eight months…), but she felt she should do it anyways. She’s scared she’ll lose me to death. I’m her only child. I’d be scared if I was in her position.

             But still, I want death. Now you must wonder, "Why doesn’t she just try to kill herself again? Why not just jump off a cliff?" Because even though I want death, it doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of the process. What kind of person am I? Scared of a little pain, while I'm not even scared of death.

            I’m sorry for not being the bravest person out there. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I’m even sorry for the people who think I’ll be a cute, happy girl when I go to my new school. Sorry.

I know this was super short T.T!

I'm so sorry D: (follows the theme of the chapter, huh? LOL)

Thanks for reading my first, short, intro chapter!

It'll probably be in a different POV for the rest, but I hope you guys liked it!

Please comment and subscribe if you liked this ^.^

I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I can :D

Thanks again!

~Despisedsecret~