12:57a.m., August 13, 2011

At 8:32 a.m., on August 11, 2011, every memory of mine of being picked on, seeing others, be picked on, and reading articles about girls committing suicide over being made fun of came rushing back to me as it happened-again. But they were only words, right?


Here's where it all started, and it started over something stupid, too. But, before I am able to tell my story, I must tell someone else's.

Some Ten Years Ago

This is before I have started school, but as my older sister, Haylei, was in Kindergarten. This, my dear friend, is the absolute beginning. "Okay, everyone," said the principal of Springfield Elementary School,"Mrs. Jennifer is going to be out for the rest of the year." Haylei began to worry. "However, we have a substitute teacher for you, Mrs. Hannibal."

"Thank you for that entrance, Mrs. Wind. Okay, class, we are going to start with the basics," Mrs. Hannibal started excitedly. Something was off here. Haylei raised her hand. "Yes?"

"Can I sharpen my pencil, please?"

"I don't know if you CAN but you MAY, young lady." The class started snickering about Haylei. Did I mention that Haylei was the most popular kid back then?

"Yes, ma'am," Haylei said as she made her way to the pencil sharpener on the wall. Haylei was left-handed, and the sharpener on the wall was for right-handed kids. She had to criss-cross her arms to sharpen her pencil. As Haylei was sharpening-with slow progress- Mrs. Hannibal walked over quickly, grabbed Haylei's hand, and sharpened the pencil herself. Haylei quickly sat down after that, with a bruise in the shape of a hand on her right arm.

And THAT'S when it all started.

Listen, And Truth Will Be Told

As my story would go on throughout the years, nobody cared about what would become of me and my loneliness in society. If the solemn substitute teacher hadn't made fun out of Haylei being left-handed, none of this never would have happened. There is nothing that happened in the rest of elementary or junior high schoo that would be of any interest, other than the hurting words that hurt worse than sticks and stones and always felt as if breaking my bones kept coming, until something happened, and it wasn't happiness.

Shortly Into the Past, About One Month

It was cold, dark, rainy, and depressing, even if the sun was shining outside, it was like this in my head. While everyone else was out shopping, I decided that I should stop this radical pain, torture, and depression that swept through and stayed inside of me-by putting an end to it. I didn't care if I was only seventeen. I didn't care if I was only a Senior in high school. The torture had to be stopped, and I had thought that there was only one way to do that. And so the not said:

"Dear Mother and Father,

I'm dearly sorry for what I have to do, but I must end the pain. I'm so sorry that I must do this. I plan to die. I love you both.


That night I watched my family from above. That night my mother cried her heart out, and even my father was not able to comfort her, for his heart became bitter and cold after I left him. What I did wasn't the only answer, however, but it did seemed easiest. Now that you've heard my story, will you tempt someone else to do as I have, or will ou decide to save a life, and keep unkind thoughts to yourself? And, always think and remember before you speak:

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will do much worse. And that means gossip, too."