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.