a/n: Hi, before I start with these chapters, I want to say that not all of these are based on true experiences. This one is, but not all of them are. Basically, these little clips of stories are pieces that I'm inspired for at that moment, my thoughts. Not quite a journal, but not a full story either. Each chapter is independent. I will tell you at the beginning of each one where I got my inspiration. Like this one: I really was contemplating this and this is fairly accurate as to what was going through my head at the time. But, don't get worried about me I'm okay now. Anyways, please don't forget to review and tell me what you think.

How long will it take them to find me, I wonder? An hour? Two? Who would care? If no one gives a damn, what am I doing this for? Ah, but see, the person who finds me will care. They'll care about the horrible picture lurking forever in their dreams. All I ever wanted was to make a difference in someone's life. All I wanted was the satisfaction of doing something to change a life. Well, I'll certainly change the life of whoever finds me. If I can't do something good, perhaps something bad will be noticed. Isn't that how it always is? The juvenile cry for attention. Make a scene and you'll be noticed. I've tried that tactic and it still doesn't work. No one notices me. No one cares. So why hesitate? Because it's scary.

I sit in the head, the rest of my family asleep. My pocketknife blade is resting on the underside of my wrist, waiting for a jerk of my hand. My heart pounds like a jackhammer against my chest, and as I stare at my wrist, my vision begins to darken and blur. All it will take will be a simple movement. Do it… Do it… Do it… The words pulse through my head, growing louder each second. Why can't I do it?

What is keeping me alive? After everything that has happened to me, that people have done to me, how can I still want to live? There is a war raging inside me, the sensible and the desperate parts of me, each fighting just as hard as its opponent. My conscious wants the desperate side of me to win, though my subconscious argues hard for sensibility. Which do I choose? Which way do I go? How do I choose?

If I do this, I will have no chance for my life at all. This will be the end. Do I really want that? But I don't know how much more of this I can take. I feel so worthless and unwanted. How can I live like that? How can I live my life feeling like a creature dirt ranks higher than? After I leave home, will I regain some self-confidence? How do I know? How do I tell? What do I do? I feel so alone. I have nowhere to turn anymore. I can't even turn to myself because I don't understand myself. Is it possible to live without understanding why you do the things you do or why you need the things you need? I've lived that way for fourteen years and I don't know if I can go on like that. I wish someone would just come along and explain me to me. I just want to understand.

I want to know why I wait so long to tell people when I have a problem. I could be doing absolutely nothing, just sitting there, talking with someone, and when I start to shake from a blood sugar plunge I won't say anything. Why? Is it because I don't want to interrupt them? Or because I'm so self-conscious about my problems that I don't want to bring attention to myself? But if I pass out, wouldn't that bring more attention to me than asking for a glass of orange juice? So why do I do what I do?

I close my eyes, trying to blink the darkness away. But when I reopen them, it returns within seconds. There is an ache in my heart, a sensation I never knew I could feel. But why is it there?

All I need is for one person to care enough to stop me. To tell me that I'm not worthless, and that they need me just as much as I need them. Just make me feel like maybe I have a purpose and a reason to live and I will. Happily. Just let me know you care. Is that really so much to ask? Why is it that my family can't figure out that's something that is necessary? Does my father really think yelling at me for every little thing is going to make me perfect? I can picture his reaction now to my bruising. He would yell at me for damaging the body that he created. He would give no concern to the fact that I have a problem, only that I must take care of what he gave me.

And to think I wondered why I was considering suicide. How can I live another four years with him?

My heart pains again as I wish I had someone who understood. Someone who could understand what I mean without my having to explain it. There are no words to describe what I feel. There is so much inside me right now that all the words and descriptions in the world couldn't clarify it. They would only confuse me more.

I've been thinking about what my greatest desire is. I just want to know what I don't have I suppose. In a way, I guess you could say I need love. But it's not that simple. I wish it were. I need someone to make me feel needed. I just want to be held and be told that nothing will ever happen to me while they're around. I want to feel safe. I've never felt safe anywhere. At one point, I thought that maybe if I had a little hole I could crawl into and hide in I would feel secure. But my life isn't that easy. I need someone. I want to be in someone's arms and just feel protected. But the chance of that is less than zero.

I'm living in a fantasy world. A parallel universe. I sit in my chair and daydream, falling into a self in my mind. I've created a life for myself, much like my own, though the people I know care about me much more than they do in this life. For a while, it kept me alive. I was happy spending my time in my little alternate reality. It was perfect. But now it isn't anymore. I've begun confusing the two and it's scary. If it were only putting aspects of my good life into my bad, it might not be so difficult. But bits of my bad life are creeping into the good and that's more than I can handle. I can't even have peace in my own mind and that's when you know something's wrong.

I'm still waiting, contemplating what to do. I wonder what it feels like, to watch all your blood slowly pour out of you onto the floor. I'd begin to feel cold; that much I know. That was why so many people did this in a warm bath. But I don't have a warm bath. I have two feet of space, if even that, with a commode in the center of it. I could watch the color drain from my face in the mirror on the wall, though I'd have to stand to see myself. Would I have the strength to stand by the time so much blood left me that I could see myself paling? As I think about it, I begin to doubt it. It doesn't matter; I'd probably just get scared if I watched myself die anyway.

Would anyone care?

I'm back around to where I started. Who would give a damn? Would anyone? I have friends who might care. But only one I truly believe cares enough to take the time to help me. She has done a lot for me in the past, but can she do enough to help me now? I believe she would try. I think she values my friendship, but does she need me? I don't think so. I don't think anyone really needs me in the long run. She would get along without me, but I wouldn't be able to without her. Is that part of my problem? Do I need people too much? How can I help it? You're supposed to be able to count on family, but I can't do that. So, I must attach myself to friends. I say I'm independent. And, mainly, I am. But there are times where all I want is to be protected. When will that happen? Will it?

Thinking about my friends has struck something. I close my eyes, maybe wanting to hear a voice telling me not to do this. The only one that comes at me is my own. I reopen my eyes and look down at my wrist, the blade still pressed against it. I stare at my hands, which have begun to shake in anticipation. I take a deep breath as I realize that maybe my own objection to my death is enough. For tonight anyway.

Slowly, I ease the pocketknife away from my wrist, a red line visible where the blade had rested. I flex my hand a few times to get the blood flowing again. With my other hand, I fold the blade back into my knife and slide it into my pocket.

Maybe tomorrow.

a/n: Don't forget to review! And I'm not going to guarantee any updates within a span of time; these are the sort of stories that I have to be inspired for so it might be a while before I update. Ciao amici!