This is my piece for Speech. Tell me honestly what you think. :)

Mom...…I know this might come as a shock to you, I know me changing from a seemingly happy, elementary school kid into a depressed, angry teenager was, but ever since I can remember...I saw them. I saw things. I didn't know what they were, I didn't want to know. Some terrified me, some comforted me, letting me know that I wasn't alone in my world of misery.
I guess that’s the strange thing about monsters. When you’re all alone, you’re scared of them and yet, in that very moment, you feel like-you don't have to...lie.
When facing the terms of my past, I uncovered something deeply disturbing only a few years ago. As a child and even now as a sixteen year old teenager, I had a problem, deep in my head and it’s Schizophrenia. Now, I tell you the story of a young girl with a broken heart, laced with the truths of myself in  My True, Suicidal letter of Woe: Lost, Alone, and Searching for Home.
You never knew and I never told. You never bothered to notice how I would always look over my shoulder, or stay cooped up in my room with safe, warm books and blankets. Even when I told you I was depressed and suicidal only months before this was written, when all that time I tried to make it clear that I’m not okay and that I tried to end it all and continue to hurt myself to try and compensate the emptiness I feel, you told me to stop talking nonsense and turned me away...my own mother as I sought refuge in your warmth and compassion. Why did you do that? Am I just wrong for feeling this way? Well I'm sorry it had to come to this, me letting go of the hurt, pain, and myself.
You're probably wondering why-why did I come out to be this way?
I can barely remember myself but I do remember the first time I went insane.
I was already a tad crazy at the time when...she came.
Sierra Rose Reeck.
Drop one of the e’s, put a w before that and it spells wreck, like how she wrecked my life the moment she entered it.
We hit it off immediately, being the only seven year olds in the area of our little dead end caddy corner. Later, when we were a little older, she would talk about things that go bump in the night. Ghosts and things amoungst the paranormal that fed my own wild imagination. We would go out on daring adventures-we turned to each other for...adventures.
It was fourth grade the first time she brought up the subject. I was curious, I read all the time and my thirst for knowledge of the unknown was unquenchable. It was harmless, nothing any normal lesbian couple would do in public but to me, to me it felt like the most wrongful, dirtiest act I could possibly do.
With both my parents being so openly homophobic, I shut into myself. I was ashamed and embarrassed and scared of what they might think. Imagine, a small fourth grader, confused by the act she just committed she’d been told was wrong.
But I know now that exploring my sexuality as a young girl was okay. I didn't need to be embarrassed, I could kiss and hold and hug without feeling disgusted. But I didn't know that and all those feelings churned in my gut every single time I even looked at her, making me almost gag instinctively.

Soon, it became a regular thing.

Adventures and I’m not talking about the intimate, I’m talking about adventures. Like fighting bad guys and discovering new places. Every day we would find a hidden treasure in our town and explore it to our heart’s content and at those moments, I felt free for a second. Laughing with my best friend and not worrying. Until I realized, as we walked back, that nothing had changed. I was still a sick little monster.
We grew older and our meetings became less frequent as I became comfortable with being straight, knowing that I was not in love with my best friend emotionally or physically.
As the years passed on, I became almost obsessed with the paranormal. I've read Twilight almost fifty times. The entire series that is. She would talk about vampires and werewolves and I could believe her. Believe I was apart of something so special no one could touch, hear, or even sense it.
It was wonderful. But it also hurt me. It twisted my reality until it was one of my vivid dreams. She told me my dreams were beautiful, they told me of unspoken lands and an even more unspoken for future. We planned our future and knew we’d live next to each other, attend the same college and our babies would be best friends...just like us.

I haven’t spoken to her in over a year.

They became worse. The monsters. Sometimes in my dreams, sometimes when I’m in school. High school *****, especially when you think any new person that comes to the school is some vampire hottie waiting to change you into an immortal bombshell and whisk you off into a better place. But you know better, you aren't a **** Dorothy, now are you because this isn't home.
It’s been better now but, sometimes I still see the monsters. Sometimes, my anxiety kicks in and I have to dig my nails into my arm till I bleed.
Sometimes it’s not my nails but the sharp sting of a razor sliding across my skin in sweet ecstasy as I let go and release all of my hurt, and knowing it is all the hurt and anger I can possess and yet still a little bit more every day as I get sick with the very sight of human existence; I was-I am schizophrenic. I've never told anyone this before. I usually keep it bottled up inside until I realized I can’t. I can’t keep being turned away from you mom.
Don’t stand there so shocked or saying, “how could my poor baby do this?” You knew because I told you for years! You never listened, you were scared and so was Daddy!
I found comfort in writing and reading. It made the worlds in my head seem possible.
Dress me in something nice as I lay in my coffin, don’t let me die ugly. I've been called it way too many times while living.
You’ll move on. You've got my younger brothers to take care of and they will need their mother. Be there for them. Tell them I love them and I didn't want to go, but I had to. Tell Daddy I love him.
There’s something I forgot to tell you. There’s one monster, always keeps coming back but it doesn't scare me, it comforts me, gives me the love and support you never did when dealing with my depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and insanity. It was you, or at least resembled you and you loved me for me.
I know this letter sounds bitter and angry but I’m not mad mom. I don’t hate you and I would never hold you against something you had no control over. You were just lost, like me.
I love you mommy and now I’m home and I’m not lost. I’m not alone. I don’t see them anymore because I. Am.Free.

Wind whipping at my face,
'You're such a big disgrace!',
Because of their name calling,
I am now falling.

The weather outside is "Colder Than My Heart, If You Can Imagine" (A Day To Remember)
but that won't stop me from "Bleeding Out" (Imagine Dragons)
and you know I won't be "Happy" (Pharrell Williams)
as I am "Without You Again" (Sam Shaber)
I would never try to force you to "Stay" (Mayday Parade)
don't try to tell me I need "Therapy" (All Time Low)
until you hear "Both Sides Of The Story" (We Are The In Crowd)
you've always told me to be "Brave" (Sara Bareilles)
but now I'm afraid of the "Demons" (Imagine Dragons)
I'm sure we can "Let It Go" (Demi Lovato)
after all we're just "Human" (Christina Perri)
as long as you know "I'll Be"  (Edwin McCain)
more than "Weightless" (All Time Low)
up here like a "Satellite" (Rise Against)
but now you're back so let's "Begin Again" (Taylor Swift)
and "Step" (Vampire Weekend)
to our "First Dance" (Nevershoutnever!)
before we sit together under the "Starlight" (Taylor Swift)
until we're "Out of Time" (A Day To Remember)

darkness under light
defines the contours of space
shadow deepens shine

I don’t understand the phrase
moving on

Because how do I forget
the sincerity of my smile,
when you look at me
with the same one?

And how do I fill in
the nooks and crannies
on my body, where yours
fits perfectly?

And how come the sky
hasn’t changed colors?
As long as the sky is blue,
I’ll never not be in love with you.

I tried to make a list of things that didn't make sense.
I ran out of paper the first hour I spent.

I came to the realization that: we're all just alone. We're all just kids searching for a little love, a little appreciation.

I also came to the realization that most promises made, are promises not kept.

No one is actually ever there for you. It's easier said than done, you know - being there.
No one to hold your hand, to hold it tight and tell you it's going to be okay.
Who dabs at the small pool that forms under your eyes when you finally feel as if it's not actually okay?
When your heart is broken, pounding in its cavity and your lungs have collapsed, drowning in sorrow and pain; whose arms wrap around you and hold it all together?
At night when you're laying in your dark room, curtains drawn from the world, staring at your dusty ceiling and that little voice is telling you how wrong you are, how worthless, how useless, how imperfect. Who tells you it's not true? That it's really all lies?
When you stare at your broken body through the mirror above your bathroom sink and you cry, horrified at what lies before you, who draws you in and tells you that you're beautiful?

When you're wishing for a plane to fall out of the sky and flatten you, for a car to momentarily veer off its path and crash into you. A stray bullet, a case of mistaken identity. All for release - however short.
The thoughts racing through you mind telling you this is how it should be, who tells you that you're worth it, that you mean something? That it will get better?
That you can make it?

What I'm trying to say is - you're with you 24/7.  You hold your own hand, wrap your scar possessed arms around your throbbing chest. You battle with yourself at night.
Only you are ever truly there for you.

Hold on. Be strong.
Take care of those beautiful eyes, that beautiful mind.
Be proud of who you are.