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Description
I'm standing in front of the sink, a glass of water in my left hand, and a shitload of pills in my right. I must have 30 or 40 pills but I don't care enough to count. The empty prescription bottles are scattered on the bathroom floor, and I can't help but thinking my mother will be more upset all her pills are gone than that I'm gone. I stare in the medicine cabinet mirror, hating what I see. The harsh florescent  lighting only accentuates my puffy red eyes and the ugly tear stains. But I'm done crying now. Because I've made my decision and it doesn't bother me anymore.  I'm resigned to my fate.  In a way, I'm almost happy because I know that everyone elses life will be easier when I'm gone. So will mine; not having a life is easier than any version of life I've ever experienced.  I am going to do it, there's no turning back now. But I can't help thinking back on what brought me to this point.

                                                                               ***

I'm Anna. Anna Newsom. I used to be happy, really. Honestly I had as close a life to perfect as it gets. I was beautiful, thin, my family was whole, and I had friends.  And really, looking at my life now from an outside perspective you wouldn't see that all that much has changed, but I'm just a really good actress. I can't really pinpoint when it all began but I guess I'll start with the accident… seems as logical a place to start as anywhere else.

Summer after 8th grade. I was so excited to start highschool and finally be a grown up, because of course that's what I would be. My friends and I just couldn't contain our excitement. Even better than the ultra significant transition from Middle School  to High School was the party. Yes THE party. Josh Witherston threw a huge party at the end of every year, complete with all the trappings of underage drinking, drugs, sex, and loud music.  It was really an honor to be invited just entering 9th grade, but my group of friends and I got lucky because Abigial's brother was pretty close with Josh. So all of us scored an invitation, there was no way we could turn it down.

The night of the party, the six of us, including Abby's brother Nate crammed giggling into his '78 oldsmobile to make the trek to Josh's house. It didn't take long but for the girls and I it seemed a lifetime.  The party itself was a blast, and I managed to refrain from all the "bad things" the party included and still have fun. So did the rest of my friends, but not Nate. No, by the time 2 am rolled around and it was time to leave Nate was falling all over himself, laughing and making a fool of himself. It was clear as day that he was drunk, and looking back, I KNOW I should have said something. I should have taken his keys, called my mom, anything but what I did do. I got in the car. I acted like nothing was wrong. Because he insisted he was okay to drive. And we all believed him. The 5 of us piled into the car, with Abby in the passenger's seat and the other 4 of us squished in the back. The drive was a little wobbly but it didn't seem too bad you know? But then he ran the red light, speeding into the intersection. We all saw the bright headlights approaching the window behind Abby's head but it was only a split second before the crash. I keep thinking I could have done something, anything, warned her or something. But I didn't even have time to scream.

The funeral  was two weeks later. I'd gotten out of the hospital with a minor concussion and a long, thin scar from the corner of my mouth to my right ear from where a piece of the window had cut me. The other girls and Nate had only a couple of bruises and scratches to show. But not Abby. When the paramedics had gotten there, she was already gone. They say, she felt no pain, the impact of the car caused immediate death. But of course that didn't make it any easier to handle.

I stood there in silence. I was silent the whole time. When the minister spoke of a life tragically lost. When they throwed the roses on the casket. When they lowered it into the ground. When Nate lost it and collapsed to the ground. When he started sobbing uncontrollably and screaming "why?!?!" and when he whispered "I'm sorry Abby," as his aunt led him away. When Julia, another friend in the accident, gribbed my hand so hard I could feel her nails cutting the flesh.

I was silent when I got home. When I walked up the stairs to my room. When I searched through my droors, trying to convince myself I didn't know what I was looking for. When I picked up the exacto knife I use for scrapbooking. I was silent as I dragged the sharp tool across my flesh. The faultless red slice it made was beautiful, I thought. So perfect.  So pristine. Silent as I sliced again, and again, not knowing what the end result would be until I saw it: Hatred. Scrawled across my arm perfectly like red ink. And I smiled. Not once did I cry.

Because a strong girl never cries.

I didn't talk to my friends anymore. Everytime the phone rang, I would tell my mom to pick it up and tell them I wasn't home, or sick. Soon they stopped calling. The summer ambled on, and it lasted longer than any other summer in history. Of course. The scars on my arms multiplied weekly. I tried to stop, I did, but everytime I felt like crying I would pick up that exacto knife again. It pushed off the sting in my eyes and replaced it with that beautiful burning on my skin. I preffered that kind of sting. By the time school started, I decided I would try to be myself again. I talked to people. I smiled. But it was never real. And everytime someone believed me when I said "I'm fine," it made me a little less fine. Even though I wanted them to believe me.

After  a while though, I did genuinley get a little better. I wasn't happy, but I sometimes convinced myself that I COULD be, with just a little effort. That's why I accepted when Jared O'Connor asked me if I'd like to go to the bonfire with him at the end of my freshman year. He was a senior, very popular, and a ladies man. I thought, maybe it'll be fun. Maybe it'll take my mind off things. So I went.  I was still wearing long sleeve shirts even though it was almost summer, to cover the scars and to uphold my image of that strong girl who'd moved on.  I didn't want him to see my weakness.

He was charming. The perfect gentleman, really. He picked me up at my house on time. I smiled my face smile when I opened the door. He kissed me on the cheek when he opened the door of his car. And he held me close at the bonfire, we talked and laughed and I actually had fun. It wasn't even pretend. And I smiled an authentic smile as he suggested we ditch the fire and go somewhere a little more private, to "talk easier." Silly Anna. Niave little Anna.  I thought he actually wanted to talk to me, you know? Get to know me.  Little did I know he's been planning this for weeks, that my charade of happiness didn't really work as well I'd thought. They all knew I was depressed, despite my best efforts. Jared thought I'd be an easy target. That me, the unloved little sad freshman would DIE for the chance to sleep with big popular senior. So when we drove to a parking lot at a nearby park, I still thought he wanted me to talk to me. And we did talk, at first. And I said yes when he offered me a beer, because I wanted him to like me. I didn't want him to think I was a stuck up little girl. Because I was all grown up. I drank 3 and I started to feel a little funny.

That's when he leaned over to kiss me. I kissed him back. I liked it, he was a good kisser. A really good kisser. I didn't mind when he slowly slipped his hand up my shirt either. Or when he undid my bra clasp. It felt good and I felt wanted. I only started to feel a bit uncomfortable when he tried to undo my jeans. I stopped.

"I don't think we should do this right now, Jared."

"Why not?"

"Because… because I don't want to," I said, a little confused.

"Oh don't lie, Anna. You know you want me. Or are you just a little tease?" he said, scowling.

"What? No! I just, I'm not ready okay?"

And I thought he'd listen. I thought he was a nice guy. He seemed nice. But he didn't listen to me. He didn't listen when I told him no again. He pressed against me anyway. He didn't listen when I screamed at him to stop. He didn't listen when I clawed his arms, he just held them down as he pulled my pants off. My head was swimming and I was crying. I hated myself for that. Strong girls never cry. Eventually I stopped screaming and just lay there. And he didn't stop.

When he was finally though with me, I stumbled the two miles home in darkness, getting lost countless times. I couldn't think straight and I couldn't stop crying. Eventually I made it to my front door. I thought about telling someone. I really did. But then I remembered what Jared said before he pushed me out the side door.

"Don't tell anyone, or I'll kill you"

So I didn't tell anyone. I just went to my room.

In my room that night I realized there was no pure skin left on my arms. I thought, maybe it would be a good time to stop. But then I looked between my legs under my skirt and realized there was already blood. So I figured, what's a little more blood? And I stopped crying.

                                                                                    ***

It's 3 months later now. And I'm standing at the sink with a glass of water in my left hand and a shitload of pills in my right. I stare at my ugly face with it's scar and puffy eyes in the mirror. I smile. I gave up trying to be happy at school. I was going to try harder, but my first day back at school after that night with Jared, everyone was calling me a slut. Apparently he spread it around that I'd jumped into bed with him at the first chance I got, that I wanted it. And I didn't really bother to correct people. I'd rather be seen as a slut then a weakling.

My mom isn't here right now. She should be back in about an hour. Right now, she's at the courthouse filing for divorce. She and Dad fight all the time now, and she's stopped trying to talk to me.  But that's

okay. Actually, it makes it easier knowing she won't be sad when I'm gone. She'll hardly notice, that silent presence that I was will just be gone. One less nuisance.

I've been thinking about doing this for a while. I've thought of creative ways to go out with a bang, but in the end I figured I should die the way I'd lived. Quietly. And I really wasn't gonna do it until today, it was just a passing thought. But today I found out I was pregnant. Three tests, all positive. Just from that one time. So I decided after that third test: I need to go. And I need to go… today. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, that's not my goal. I'm just not strong enough to deal with it.

I smile at myself one more time in the mirror. I tilt my head back, pop the pills in, and take a sip of water. I swallow. And I think I'm finally free.

I'm Anna. Anna Newsom. I used to be happy, really.

Description
I'm standing in front of the sink, a glass of water in my left hand, and a shitload of pills in my right. I must have 30 or 40 pills but I don't care enough to count. The empty prescription bottles are scattered on the bathroom floor, and I can't help but thinking my mother will be more upset all her pills are gone than that I'm gone. I stare in the medicine cabinet mirror, hating what I see. The harsh florescent  lighting only accentuates my puffy red eyes and the ugly tear stains. But I'm done crying now. Because I've made my decision and it doesn't bother me anymore.  I'm resigned to my fate.  In a way, I'm almost happy because I know that everyone elses life will be easier when I'm gone. So will mine; not having a life is easier than any version of life I've ever experienced.  I am going to do it, there's no turning back now. But I can't help thinking back on what brought me to this point.

                                                                               ***

I'm Anna. Anna Newsom. I used to be happy, really. Honestly I had as close a life to perfect as it gets. I was beautiful, thin, my family was whole, and I had friends.  And really, looking at my life now from an outside perspective you wouldn't see that all that much has changed, but I'm just a really good actress. I can't really pinpoint when it all began but I guess I'll start with the accident… seems as logical a place to start as anywhere else.

Summer after 8th grade. I was so excited to start highschool and finally be a grown up, because of course that's what I would be. My friends and I just couldn't contain our excitement. Even better than the ultra significant transition from Middle School  to High School was the party. Yes THE party. Josh Witherston threw a huge party at the end of every year, complete with all the trappings of underage drinking, drugs, sex, and loud music.  It was really an honor to be invited just entering 9th grade, but my group of friends and I got lucky because Abigial's brother was pretty close with Josh. So all of us scored an invitation, there was no way we could turn it down.

The night of the party, the six of us, including Abby's brother Nate crammed giggling into his '78 oldsmobile to make the trek to Josh's house. It didn't take long but for the girls and I it seemed a lifetime.  The party itself was a blast, and I managed to refrain from all the "bad things" the party included and still have fun. So did the rest of my friends, but not Nate. No, by the time 2 am rolled around and it was time to leave Nate was falling all over himself, laughing and making a fool of himself. It was clear as day that he was drunk, and looking back, I KNOW I should have said something. I should have taken his keys, called my mom, anything but what I did do. I got in the car. I acted like nothing was wrong. Because he insisted he was okay to drive. And we all believed him. The 5 of us piled into the car, with Abby in the passenger's seat and the other 4 of us squished in the back. The drive was a little wobbly but it didn't seem too bad you know? But then he ran the red light, speeding into the intersection. We all saw the bright headlights approaching the window behind Abby's head but it was only a split second before the crash. I keep thinking I could have done something, anything, warned her or something. But I didn't even have time to scream.

The funeral  was two weeks later. I'd gotten out of the hospital with a minor concussion and a long, thin scar from the corner of my mouth to my right ear from where a piece of the window had cut me. The other girls and Nate had only a couple of bruises and scratches to show. But not Abby. When the paramedics had gotten there, she was already gone. They say, she felt no pain, the impact of the car caused immediate death. But of course that didn't make it any easier to handle.

I stood there in silence. I was silent the whole time. When the minister spoke of a life tragically lost. When they throwed the roses on the casket. When they lowered it into the ground. When Nate lost it and collapsed to the ground. When he started sobbing uncontrollably and screaming "why?!?!" and when he whispered "I'm sorry Abby," as his aunt led him away. When Julia, another friend in the accident, gribbed my hand so hard I could feel her nails cutting the flesh.

I was silent when I got home. When I walked up the stairs to my room. When I searched through my droors, trying to convince myself I didn't know what I was looking for. When I picked up the exacto knife I use for scrapbooking. I was silent as I dragged the sharp tool across my flesh. The faultless red slice it made was beautiful, I thought. So perfect.  So pristine. Silent as I sliced again, and again, not knowing what the end result would be until I saw it: Hatred. Scrawled across my arm perfectly like red ink. And I smiled. Not once did I cry.

Because a strong girl never cries.

I didn't talk to my friends anymore. Everytime the phone rang, I would tell my mom to pick it up and tell them I wasn't home, or sick. Soon they stopped calling. The summer ambled on, and it lasted longer than any other summer in history. Of course. The scars on my arms multiplied weekly. I tried to stop, I did, but everytime I felt like crying I would pick up that exacto knife again. It pushed off the sting in my eyes and replaced it with that beautiful burning on my skin. I preffered that kind of sting. By the time school started, I decided I would try to be myself again. I talked to people. I smiled. But it was never real. And everytime someone believed me when I said "I'm fine," it made me a little less fine. Even though I wanted them to believe me.

After  a while though, I did genuinley get a little better. I wasn't happy, but I sometimes convinced myself that I COULD be, with just a little effort. That's why I accepted when Jared O'Connor asked me if I'd like to go to the bonfire with him at the end of my freshman year. He was a senior, very popular, and a ladies man. I thought, maybe it'll be fun. Maybe it'll take my mind off things. So I went.  I was still wearing long sleeve shirts even though it was almost summer, to cover the scars and to uphold my image of that strong girl who'd moved on.  I didn't want him to see my weakness.

He was charming. The perfect gentleman, really. He picked me up at my house on time. I smiled my face smile when I opened the door. He kissed me on the cheek when he opened the door of his car. And he held me close at the bonfire, we talked and laughed and I actually had fun. It wasn't even pretend. And I smiled an authentic smile as he suggested we ditch the fire and go somewhere a little more private, to "talk easier." Silly Anna. Niave little Anna.  I thought he actually wanted to talk to me, you know? Get to know me.  Little did I know he's been planning this for weeks, that my charade of happiness didn't really work as well I'd thought. They all knew I was depressed, despite my best efforts. Jared thought I'd be an easy target. That me, the unloved little sad freshman would DIE for the chance to sleep with big popular senior. So when we drove to a parking lot at a nearby park, I still thought he wanted me to talk to me. And we did talk, at first. And I said yes when he offered me a beer, because I wanted him to like me. I didn't want him to think I was a stuck up little girl. Because I was all grown up. I drank 3 and I started to feel a little funny.

That's when he leaned over to kiss me. I kissed him back. I liked it, he was a good kisser. A really good kisser. I didn't mind when he slowly slipped his hand up my shirt either. Or when he undid my bra clasp. It felt good and I felt wanted. I only started to feel a bit uncomfortable when he tried to undo my jeans. I stopped.

"I don't think we should do this right now, Jared."

"Why not?"

"Because… because I don't want to," I said, a little confused.

"Oh don't lie, Anna. You know you want me. Or are you just a little tease?" he said, scowling.

"What? No! I just, I'm not ready okay?"

And I thought he'd listen. I thought he was a nice guy. He seemed nice. But he didn't listen to me. He didn't listen when I told him no again. He pressed against me anyway. He didn't listen when I screamed at him to stop. He didn't listen when I clawed his arms, he just held them down as he pulled my pants off. My head was swimming and I was crying. I hated myself for that. Strong girls never cry. Eventually I stopped screaming and just lay there. And he didn't stop.

When he was finally though with me, I stumbled the two miles home in darkness, getting lost countless times. I couldn't think straight and I couldn't stop crying. Eventually I made it to my front door. I thought about telling someone. I really did. But then I remembered what Jared said before he pushed me out the side door.

"Don't tell anyone, or I'll kill you"

So I didn't tell anyone. I just went to my room.

In my room that night I realized there was no pure skin left on my arms. I thought, maybe it would be a good time to stop. But then I looked between my legs under my skirt and realized there was already blood. So I figured, what's a little more blood? And I stopped crying.

                                                                                    ***

It's 3 months later now. And I'm standing at the sink with a glass of water in my left hand and a shitload of pills in my right. I stare at my ugly face with it's scar and puffy eyes in the mirror. I smile. I gave up trying to be happy at school. I was going to try harder, but my first day back at school after that night with Jared, everyone was calling me a slut. Apparently he spread it around that I'd jumped into bed with him at the first chance I got, that I wanted it. And I didn't really bother to correct people. I'd rather be seen as a slut then a weakling.

My mom isn't here right now. She should be back in about an hour. Right now, she's at the courthouse filing for divorce. She and Dad fight all the time now, and she's stopped trying to talk to me.  But that's

okay. Actually, it makes it easier knowing she won't be sad when I'm gone. She'll hardly notice, that silent presence that I was will just be gone. One less nuisance.

I've been thinking about doing this for a while. I've thought of creative ways to go out with a bang, but in the end I figured I should die the way I'd lived. Quietly. And I really wasn't gonna do it until today, it was just a passing thought. But today I found out I was pregnant. Three tests, all positive. Just from that one time. So I decided after that third test: I need to go. And I need to go… today. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, that's not my goal. I'm just not strong enough to deal with it.

I smile at myself one more time in the mirror. I tilt my head back, pop the pills in, and take a sip of water. I swallow. And I think I'm finally free.

I'm Anna. Anna Newsom. I used to be happy, really.