My life would have been cut short if it wasn’t for that hasty intervention by fate.

I ran home from school.  No one was home, I opened the garage door knowing the code. ‘1023’ I thought to myself.  I ran inside and locked all of the doors, I closed the curtains and kept the lights off in case someone looked inside.  The medicine was locked up in a cabinet in my parent’s room, she forgot to lock the cabinet. I smiled to myself. “I can do this” I thought to myself.  I grabbed two bottles of pills and jogged to my bathroom in the main hall.  I opened the bottles with shaking hands and popped handfuls and handfuls of pills into my mouth, swallowing them with water in a lid from a cup we had lost forever ago.  I fell asleep slumped against the bathtub, a smile on my face as I drifted into an eternal sleep. Or so I thought.

I woke up in a hospital, tears running down my face knowing that I failed.  I was so tired, so tired. I fell asleep and woke up in an ambulance, I was being transferred to a different hospital.  I then realized how sad people would be if I had succeeded.  I didn’t care and I still don’t.  I know I will try again, I just don’t know how soon.  I will succeed.  
Goodbye.
Forever.

There was a party.  She walked in and looked around.
She saw seas of people, bottles and bottles of *****, people holding one of their nostrils closed and sniffing fine white powder from a coffee table,
smoke everywhere, cigarettes dangling from peoples' mouths, people in a circle passing a joint of marijuana between fingers, girls sitting
on boys' laps, girls on girls', mouths on mouths, hands touching everywhere.
She decided that the party was not for her, after all, she was depressed.  
She walked home,
smelling of
cigarettes
and
sadness.

She grabbed her faux leather messenger bag,
threw in 3 old band t-shirts, 3 pairs of underwear,
2 bras and a couple pairs of ripped skinny jeans, her Polaroid camera to take photographs of where she goes, a book, a journal to document her thoughts, a sketch pad, a package of Marlboro Red 100's, a lighter,  her iPod and some toiletries.  She didn't say anything, she just out and left. No note, no warning, nothing but her mess of a room.  She smiled at her room, her dream catcher, her poster-strewn walls, all of it.
And she slipped out of her window.  'Goodbye,' She thought to herself and started walking.  But what she didn't know was she had
just left her life and started a brand new one.  She was walking to the edge of oblivion.  She was shooting herself straight off a cliff,
off of the safety under her roof, the safety of her bed, the safety of everything she left behind.  All she had was that bag.  17 items. That was her life. 17 items to keep her safe, 17 items to live on for the rest of her time.  For the 3 years until she was 18.  Until she could show her face in public again until she could be seen.  But until then, she was alone.  She sparked her lighter and lit up a cigarette.  All alone with her bag and a package of cigarettes. She sat down on the curb by the bus stop and began to draw.  And that was that.  She was lost in her mind. Her mind had run farther than she had. Because after all,
we're
               all
                              mad
                           ­                       here..