Her sad face plays through my mind one last time. “I need you,” she says. I need her too. So why did she ever leave me? I didn’t understand how she could love me so much one say and hate me the next. I didn’t like how I couldn’t control my life. How I couldn’t be in charge. How everyone said life is what you make it when it isn’t. It isn’t what you make it. I wouldn’t make my life this bad. I did understand what was wrong with me. I couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. Maybe I did. I’m not sure what I want at all. That’s a lie. I know what I want. I want her. I have. I always have. I always will. Without her I’m a dead man walking. Pointless. Restless. And filled with nothingness.

Did I do something to upset god? Or did I do something to upset the devil? Either way, I’m affected. I don’t know how to fix it. At least not on my own. I’ve admitted it now. I’m not strong enough on my own. But who will help? Who can I trust? I’m too hardheaded to understand or let the help sink in deep. Why am I so stubborn? Why can’t I get help? Wait. That’s a lie. I can. It just won’t help me. Help that doesn’t help. Sadness that keeps getting sad. Darkness that gets darker. But an end that just won’t come.

There is a girl. A sad girl. Whom I’ve known since I was a little girl. She helped me, get away from all the hurt as a child. She always put on a smile for me. No matter what was happening, she smiled for me. I never noticed the sad tears in her eyes, the bruises and cuts on her skin, the fake smile on her lips, or the pain in her heart. Not until I turned 12. When I was 12 I fell into a sadness that was so unbearable I thought I should die. She told me I was worth it when I was young. I never believed her, but it felt good to be noticed. When I turned 4, she didn’t have as much time for me. She had another girl. A girl who needed her more. Then when I turned 7, she had another girl who needed her more than the first. Then when I turned 9, she had 2 children that needed her much more than the first 2. I thought she was my guardian angel. But she only had time for 4 children, not 5. She didn’t know that I was the weakest. She didn’t notice me anymore. So I sat alone crying, my heart dying. But she didn’t know. Now we don’t speak anymore. We’ve grown so far apart I can’t even talk to her or look her in the eye anymore, for fear she will push me away again. I had been pushed away too many times for another heart break. See, I never understood the pain in her eyes, the bruises and cuts on her skin, the fakeness of her smile, or the pain in her heart until I turned 12. It all screamed help me, I break too, I’m not perfect. How do I know? Well I didn’t until I felt the exact same way.

Once my savior, now my lover, and my best friend. He saved me from the pain I felt and tried to make it better. He gave me love without asking for anything in return. But I willingly gave him all of my love. He’d never break my heart, he’d never hurt me. But when he said it, I knew it must be true because he wasn’t like all the others. The ones who didn’t want anything to do with me when something better came along. He made me feel pretty, he made me feel good enough, and he made me realize that life may be worth living. He became my best friend, my lover, and I loved him like no other. But his parents didn’t understand why he loved me so much. They were afraid to lose their not so little boy. So they took him away from me. Took him so he couldn’t see me anymore, couldn’t talk to me, couldn’t hear me, couldn’t think of me, couldn’t feel my touch anymore. So I’ve plunged back into the dark hole he pulled me out of. I love him so much. And he will always be my one and only. Once my savior, now my lover, and my best friend.

I danced around my house. Nobody was home. I danced around in the living room. I danced in the kitchen. I danced passed the drawer of knives and past the cabinet of pills. For once I wanted to know what it was like to be happy and for 5 minutes I got it.

A smile for the cuts. A smile for the bruises. A smile for the people I've lost. A smile for the pain I take. If only you knew my smile was fake.

They tell me to be happy. But I'm always sad. I don't understand why. My mother thinks I've gone mad. But surely I haven't, what insane person can feel pain? I felt I had to test this theory of pain, so I took a blade to my veins. It didn't hurt, it made me feel alive and in control. Holding life and death can make a person go mad. Perhaps I am insane.