My eyes are closed. I am nothing and I am happy feeling nothing at all. But a question, a curious attempt at human connection or empathy, pierces my comfortable silence. My eyes are forced open.

"Ashley, are you okay?" My mother looks me in the eyes. Her voice is soft.

I stare her in the eyes.
I'm constantly tired and I don't even know why because I get more than enough sleep. The people who I supposedly call my friends, aren't really my friends. I don't do as well in school anymore as I used to. I'm nervous about the future and I don't know what to do. I feel so alone all the time. I have low self esteem. I'm not happy with my body, my face or my personality. I tell myself I should but I still feel miserable. I tell myself I have nothing to be sad about but I still feel miserable. I always want to be alone but I feel lonely and I don't want to feel lonely. I hate you for not holding me and letting me cry and telling me it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. I hate you for asking me if I'm okay and not asking. I want to cry now. I'm exhausted. I feel dead. I don't even care anymore, or maybe I do. I only feel real when I press that dull blade into my skin. I only feel real when I sit listening to blood trickle down my finger tips. I honestly just want to sleep forever and never wake up.
I stare at my hands.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine."
She turns away.