You stand at the mirror, take a tissue, and wipe away the tears from your dull blue eyes. You start to sniffle again as you remember your boyfriend, or should I say ex, who told you what such beautiful eyes you have. Had.

He was the jock- he had the money, the looks, and was the best football player ever. You thought he was adorable. But that's it- you were just you: special to friends and family, not popular, blue eyed. You're you- with a huge crush on the jock, who you can't have, and your best male friend since the seventh grade who you've told everything. He's cute, short, plays the drums, makes you laugh and knows when to listen. You can't help liking him, but he has a girlfriend. So Jock asks you out and you say yes: you have a crush on him after all and the other guy you like has a girlfriend.

You date for a month, the usual kiss, and the holding hands in the hallway. You think he loves you and you want to tell him you love him. But the day you're going to tell him, he stops you in the hall: says he has something important to tell you. You await that time like nothing before and look into his eyes as he tells you-

As he tells you that it was a dare to go out with you and he just made fifty bucks. He never really liked you and thought you were an awesome person, but just weren't for him- and it was a dare, after all. You smile and say that's all right, that you knew something like this would happen, yet you couldn't say no.

You're used to hiding your tears. At home, you live with your dad and step mom and step daughter five months younger than you yet still in the same grade and your cat that your sister gave to you- but she died five and a half years ago. You named her Kitty, but you know she's going to die soon: she's old and the doctor says she sick. You dad doesn't love you like a father should love a daughter- he doesn't love you at all.

Then there's your mom and step-dad and other stepsisters. One's not even related to you. You know it just can't be true that a mother could have no love for her daughter and would only want her for the extra child support every month because they don't work enough to make the money they need. You know it just can't be true, but you feel it is, that your own mother blames you for the death of your sister when it was just an overdose of drugs from a depression your parents had set in on her- just like they have you. You know it just can't be true that your mother would do any of the things, but that's how it feels.

So you tell your friends, best of male and female friends. They tell you that your mother and father love you, that none of what you feel is true. So then you stop telling them what you feel because they tell you you're always wrong. But you think how can you be wrong about what you feel? Now they're getting worried because you won't talk to them online and you've blocked all their screen-names. They just don't get it!

Again, Jock just told you about the bet and you keep your tears in and go on with your day, people looking at you like you're crazy because you're not crying. Now the best of female and male friends know that you will try something soon because you used to be suicidal and depressed. They think you're over your depression and suicidal state, but you're not. Your father wants to take you to the doctor because his new wife is concerned over you more than he is, but you won't hear of it. You won't talk to consolers and your friends deny the truth so where do you go? Back to cutting is where you will go.

You used to cut and no one found out about it. But you stopped because it was wrong. Cuttings is all you knew what to do when you felt pain and had no one to talk to. So you will go home and cut. Then you think about it while you walk home from school that day Jock told you of the bet. Will cutting be enough? If you kill yourself, every weekend you visit your mother she won't remind you that you killed her only daughter. If you kill yourself, you won't have to go home to a place where you don't feel loved. If you kill yourself, all your friends will suffer. But now, you feel as if you don't have any friends.

So it's settled. When you get home, you're going to kill yourself. You get home and write a quick note saying why you did what you did and how it's the only thing you knew how to do and that you father should have listened to his new wife and took you to the doctor. You take the pills out of the medicine cabinet and into your bedroom where you find a piece of mail that someone must have put on your bed. It's from no one so you open it up.

I'm sorry, the letter starts, that I could not have gotten this to you sooner, but I just found out about this myself. Prep, the senior I was going out with, used to be Jock's girlfriend. They broke up, saying things like, I dare you to date someone you know you will never like but someone that has a huge crush on you. Then it got more interesting. They found out that a certain person I am writing the letter to has and crush on Jock and me. They thought it would be an awesome bet to include their friends on that Prep would go out with me first, so you could go out with Jock and ruin what I was going to ask you: if you would like to be my girlfriend. Being a guy, I had a crush on Prep like you had a crush on Jock. So they ruined what we could have had, and I am sorry I followed a foolish crush. I hope this gets to you soon enough so he doesn't hurt you like she hurt me.

It's signed, Always, your little drummer boy. Always, I will love you. Be mine?

You cried and ended up here: at the mirror looking into your eyes. You still want it to end, but you know Little Drummer Boy loves you as you love him: it's now no more difficult to look into his blue eyes and think he'll never love you the same way that you love him.

You sign online and unblock your best of female and male friends. You wait and when they don't instant message you, you're broken. Wait it out one more day, says a voice in your head and you obey. Depression has sunk in again and you don't go down to supper once again. You know you're losing weight and everyone can tell, but you're not anorexic. It's just depression without medication, it's a very difficult thing to deal with and you finally understand that you are not alone. It's a good feeling.

Tomorrow, you will go to school and talk to you little drummer boy and tell him that you love him, too. You will apologize to your female best friend and say that that is what you feel and if she doesn't get it, you'll try to help her. You tell them that you want them to be there when you tell your dad that you are depressed and suicidal and want help. They agree. It's already tomorrow and your plan has gone just as you planned. It's nice to know that even though your friends we're talking to you because you wouldn't let them, that they'll always be there for you.

Walking down school's hallways, you in between boyfriend and female best friend, your teachers notice what they've wanted to deny: that you needed help and that they never gave it to you or tried to help. Your honors English teacher stops you in the hall and says she hopes to see you again. You smile meekly. Your honors geometry teacher says she'll think of you and let little drummer boy help you with your geometry: he's a grade ahead of you, but you already know that.

Your gym teacher finally looks at you with understanding and murmurs that he will fix your grades according to this: it's a medical excuse, after all. Your band teacher smiles and hugs you: he's become the father that you always wished you had, though you could never tell him this, though he knew. He says that he'll miss you and can't wait to have you back. He'll even tell the band why you're not here, as one of the drumline will be missing for practice, even though it's only concert band. You nod and smile. He even says he'll send you an occasional card signed, dad Hain and you let some more tears fall and hug him real hard around the middle: he's almost six foot one and you're five two with you drummer boy being even shorter than you.

Friends in the hallway stop you and hug you and say how could you possibly keep this in you all this time. You say that you've kept in since sixth grade and your Christian friends say they'll pray for you. You're religious, yes. Jock and Prep come walking hand in hand up to you and your friends. They say that they're heard the news and are sorry, that they never would have done this if they knew what it would have done to you. You smile and say join the rest of the crowd. It's ok. Jock and Prep look behind you, your little drummer boy and your best female friend and see other people following at a distance, some crying. They join the crowd.

Your honors science teacher wishes you well and hopes to get to know the real you better when you get back. Last but not least, you step brother's French teacher and yours, too, stops you in the hall and says, I'm glad you're doing what's best for you. God bless you and help you get well. Maybe I won't retire this year and teach you next year, too, to teach the real you. You smile and say thanks and hug her: she's like the grandma you always wished you still had; yours died in kindergarten.

You, still in the middle of your little drummer boy and best female friend, walk to your house and sit down on the couch, still as three, and wait. Your stepsister comes home and laughs at you and your two friends, and you start to cry. She looks shocked and leaves to her room. An hour goes by and yet you still have one more to wait. Again, your stepsister comes down and looks at you for what feels like hours but what is only a few short minutes. She asks what wrong and you look up, and see that concern really does cloud her face. You say wait until your dad and her mom get back from work. She stays on one of the other couches in the living room and you all wait in silence for the other fifty-five minutes that you have left to wait.

In exactly fifty-five minutes to the dot, your father and your stepsister's mother walk in, laughing merrily at each other. Somehow, it seems to darken the mood even more. Your little drummer boy gives you a one armed hug and so does your best female friend. You know that they'll have to go through the living room to get to the staircase that takes them upstairs, that's why you're here. Tears start to fall as they notice the gloomy fog that has seemed to settle between their daughters and their friends. Maybe wearing your new contacts today wasn't the best idea.

After a while of silence, you whisper the words to the dead quiet room. You say you need help, professional help. You say that you've been suicidal since the sixth grade and that you've also been depressed since then and know that it doesn't have to be this bad with help and medication. You say that you're sorry. You say that you don't want to ever seen your mother again because she blames you for your sisters death and doesn't love you like a mother should love a daughter- that it's a love-less love, if possible.

Your best female friend nudges you, you gulp and tears fill your eyes. You whisper that Jock broke up with you yesterday and you were going to kill yourself, but you couldn't do it because you knew that friends that you didn't talk to still loved you for you and that they cared what happened to you and that little drummer boy loved you: that that's why you're still here- the only reason why, too.

Wake up, says a voice to you, wake up. You look around the study hall room, noteing that you fell asleep. You chuckle, and say outloud to no one in particular, "bull shit if that would ever happen," and walk out of the room, making a vow that you never would let it happen.