Sometimes she wondered if it'd be like it was in the stories that she read after the sun went down and the stars lit the dark sky. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as they all talked about. Maybe it was better to die from a vampire's kiss rather than drowning or stealing her grandfather's rifle. Maybe even, if she was lucky, the dead kiss would steal away her memories and her unbearable pain. The most she could do was hope.

She knew she ought to hold on. She had a girlfriend, a home, a family, friends. She had her writing, other's love, and sleep. But when sleep wouldn't come and the stress overloaded, she lost herself in the vampire novels she loved so much as the tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Who would care if the vampires came? She knew she had a good reason to keep living and that things had to get better, but the endless pain just wouldn't leave. She was tired of death caressing her in her dreams, only to leave her naked and alone when she woke up from her unnerving slumber.

Death...she found it to be a wonderful word. When the tears fell away and when silver kisses didn't haunt her daydreams she dreamed about letting go. Of becoming some stupid ironic statistic about teen suicide and telling everyone that she cared about the truth. About all the times she'd lied, about what she wanted to say, about why she'd never call her father by anything other than his first name. She wanted to tell them the truth about everything but couldn't. She wouldn't allow others to hurt because of a stupid idea.

It was ironic really how upset it made her when optimists tried to tell her that she could change things if she wanted to. That somehow, if she went toward god and embraced the Christian faith, she'd be saved and her depression would evaporate. She often wondered how her friends could make comments saying, "welcome to the world" when she was having trouble surviving and they thought she was just growing up. They didn't really think she'd do the things that lurked at the deepest depths of her mind. She often thought that they laughed when she was dying just to spite her, but she knew it wasn't true. Everyone had their own hell, their own pergatory of damnation, and she was living her's.

Desperation was constantly flitting around the suicidal thoughts, and she wanted so much to tell someone that she just wanted to know that someone loved her. Her girlfriend often told her and she knew that she meant it, but she needed more than that. She needed to be held and lied to, to have someone tell her that everything was going to be okay and that she just had to wait it out.

Her eyes were constantly pricked with tears and lined with delicate bruises. It felt as though the soul had been sucked from her body and was out frolicking among the living somewhere in the sunshine. Who would have thought that she was living inspite of death's sweet caress? She knew somehow she could survive for just a little bit longer. To fullfill her dream, her destiny. Just a few weeks longer and she could let go. She only hoped she could survive that long.