When I woke up all that I had on my mind was cutting. Cutting was the only way I could feel good. It brought a sensational pain that only hurt for a few moments, and then was gone and left behind a tingling feeling.

“Come on, Liz,” I heard my younger brother call to me as he beat on the bathroom door.

“One second,” I yell back, though he probably didn’t hear me because of how hard he was hitting the door.

I had cut three slits on my upper left thigh, and cut two on both of my forearms. They weren’t very deep, but were deep enough to hurt for a minute and drip a couple drops of blood.

“Finally!” my brother, Tyler, said as I walked out of the room. “We only have ten minutes until we need to be at the bus stop, so you should go get dressed,” he told me while noticing that I was still wearing what I had slept in.

Thank god my shorts were long enough to cover my fresh cuts, I don’t think I’d be able to survive going into another suicidal watch again, and going to another group home.


When I got to school I was bombarded with people asking me five million questions about where I had been the last three months, of course I didn’t want them to know I had been at a group home, so I told them I was staying with a relative for a few months.

Once the crowd around me died down I could see Vincent walking towards me, and he looked mad, he was storming around, pushing people out of the way, and his face was really red. When he got closer to me I could see that he had been crying, too. He didn’t even say hi to me before he started in on me.

“Why did you cut again? You promised me you wouldn’t anymore, this was your third time being taken out of school to get put in a group home,” he pauses for a minute as if forming his thoughts. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said his voice becoming softer then it was before. “I think we should break up, maybe in the future if you stop cutting yourself we can get back together.” After he got that out he walked away, his shoulders slouched forward with his hands in his jeans pockets.

Once he walked away I could feel the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Of course we’ve broken up before, but we always got back together right after, only this time he seemed to be serious. He didn’t even let me talk to him.

“Are you okay?” I jumped, I was so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t heard my brother walk up.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your crying.”

“So, that doesn’t mean anything. Just go away,” I say, my voice cracking as I did. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and walked off, right out the doors of the school, I could hear the sirens of the door going off, but I didn’t care anymore. Yeah, I have problems but that doesn’t mean you need to ruin me trying to fix it. Why can’t people just try to help me get better instead of getting in my face every time I mess up.

I guess it probably would help it I hang out with people with more positive attitudes, I guess it’s too late now.

“Liz, where are you going?” someone asked me when I was about halfway across the parking lot. I recognized the voice almost immediately, Vincent.

“Why do you care?” I replied, he hated it when people answered a question with a question.

“Because, I shouldn’t of been so harsh on you,” he surprisingly didn’t sound irritated by me answering his question like that. “And I shouldn’t of shouted out about you going to a group home, that shouldn’t of been me to tell people where you had been, it should have been your choice of who knew about it.”

“It’s kind of too late to apologize for that now that the whole school knows.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he had been fidgeting with his hands, but then he looked up at me, guilt coating his eyes.

Wow, I guess he really did feel bad.

When he didn’t say anything else I turned around and started to walk away but I didn’t get very far before he grabbed onto my arm in an attempt to keep me from leaving. When I saw that he wasn’t going to let go I turn back around.

“What?” I practically shouted at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“Walk, I only live like five miles away.”

“Okay, but if you want, call me and I’ll come by and pick you up to bring you back to school or the rest of the way to your house.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him, and then he walked back into the school.



By the time I got home it was about three, which was about the time I got home everyday.

When I walked into the garage my mom’s car was in there so she was either home or my dad came by and picked her up to bring her to lunch or something.

My dad left my mom when I was two because my mom wanted to quit her job so she could stay home with me and my brother, who had just been born, instead of sending us to daycare. So they got in a fight and one thing led to another.

“I’m home!” I yelled when I walked in the door when I didn’t hear my mom yell back ‘In here!’ I knew she was with my dad.

My brother was over at his friend’s house today, so I had the perfect opportunity to do what I was thinking about since I left the school.

I went back into the garage and grabbed a rope, then came back in the house grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. Then I jotted down a quick note telling my mom what had happened at school and why I felt I needed to do this. I set the note on the counter in the kitchen, grab the rope and go upstairs. Once I was up there I tied the rope to the balcony and then tied it to my neck.

A couple of moments later, I jump.


Dear Mom,

March 14, 2004

I’m sorry but I have to do this. I just don’t feel like I belong here anymore, I feel like I never did. I know I’m the reason why dad left you, you don’t have to tell me any different now. I got in a fight with Vincent today and we broke up. I know he’s given up on me.


Everyone has.




Love,






Lizzy