I was eleven, wondering why everyone was so much happier than I was.

I was twelve, I thought, "Is this really all it is?"

I was thirteen, I knew I wasn't doing something right.

I was fourteen, sitting in the bathtub of my own tears.

I was fifteen, wanting to rip my veins open.
I was fifteen, scratching at my skin.
I was fifteen, staring at that risky bottle of pills.
I was fifteen, plotting to give up.

I was fifteen; I wanted to be dead.

But I realized, I died far long ago.