I.** That night, I placed a pillow over my head; I dreamt that I was dead. I had cut my wrists over the bathroom sink. I was laying down on the floor. On the bulge of my stomach, written in blood were the words: "I feel better now." Over by the side, in blood too, the wall proclaimed: "This is my version of okay."

II. I dreamt of going to school on Monday and spending my lunchbreak crying in the bathroom. Hiding in the library when I'm full of tears, showing up to class empty. Seventeen is hard. Life is hard. Tell me what you wish for me. (I don't like going to bed sad.)

III. It's so strange that I still feel so alone, maybe worse than before. I am tired of falling apart; I will try holding myself together. Like a scarecrow, mummy, dandelion puff. I will not fall just so I don't have to pick myself up again.

IV. Give me a reason to surrender, or a viable way out of this mess. I don't want to break my heart, or anyone's. I just want to stop hurting. (I knew it wasn't going to be a good year.)

V. I told you "no promises" because I don't need to promise. I have no control when it comes to you. I'm stuck with this overpowering love. I'd drive myself crazy missing you. I'd forget to be happy in the search for you. I promise I won't stop loving you; I can't promise I'll survive it.