All I can think of is I’m glad I didn’t do it. I was so close but just couldn’t go through with it. After that I thought I was weak; too scared to take my life. But still no one even noticed that I had a problem. Everyone simply looked the other way. I was just passed by. It’s strange how I felt- I was so good at faking it, that everyone thought I was fine! I was just a happy-go-lucky and optimistic girl. It’s surprising how powerful you can feel when you are able to manipulate. I also felt crushed that nobody cared. Was I that good of an actress, I could just paint on a smile and everyone was convinced? I was hurting so badly, and the only way I knew to make it go away I was too pathetic to do. I had the perfect plan, nothing would go wrong. It would have been done. All I had to do was pull the trigger, sweaty in my nervous, fourteen year-old hand. There I was, in the basement, at my father's desk, in an empty house. But something made me put that gun down. I still don’t know what. I cried for days. I was ashamed and embarrassed of my helplessness. Still, nobody knew how close I was. Life just went on like nothing happened. Going back to school the next day...everything as it was the day before, but I was forever changed. Will I ever get to that point again? Could I ever actually do it? Can I promise myself that I will never feel that way again?
