Short Story

The Last Day Isabel Tehan My therapist finished up the session by proclaiming her signature ‘don’t forget, you’re worthy of life!’, but I was inclined to disagree. In fact, as I walked down the stairs out of her office and fell on my ass, I decided I was going to kill myself. Admittedly, I’d been planning on doing it for a while, but this latest session with Jessica Fuller, who I solely referred to as Jesus, had cemented my resolve. Jesus was literally the most incompetent working professional I had ever met. Not JC, I mean Jessica. Like, I’d been telling her in our sessions for the past two months that I was happier than I’d been in a while, that I was doing better. Truthfully, I’d been planning my suicide for the past twenty-six days. I was a much better liar than people gave me credit for. I mean, I was literally planning on killing myself in less than thirty-two hours, and my therapist just let me walk out of her office and go on my merry way. My family, too, believed me when I said I was doing well. My mom even unlocked the cabinet where we kept the knives. I emerged from the dungeon that was Jesus’s lair a.k.a. her office, and onto Montpelier Ave. The warmth from the sun beamed down on my face, but I was already pretty hot from the sweltering flames of hell in the aforementioned lair, so I just wanted it to be cold out. I laughed at the irony of my joke, and walked down the cobblestone street to get some ice cream. I briefly considered the idea that I might be spending the rest of my life in a fire-filled pit before reminding myself that I didn’t believe in God. I ordered a large German Chocolate frappe because I figured, screw it, I’m about to die, so why the hell not. I’d been imagining myself in a coffin fairly frequently these past few days, and for a moment I thought maybe I shouldn’t risk looking fat in the blue dress I wanted to be buried in, but in the end my desire for the frappe won. I went into the back room to enjoy my beverage like the lonesome loser I was. It was weird to think that this was the last time I’d ever eat ice cream, the last time I’d ever sit in Francine’s Fantastic Frozen Foods alone, by myself. The first thought made me sad, but the idea that I would never have to be seen looking like a fool by myself overjoyed me. This was precisely the reason I wanted to kill myself in the first place. I made an obnoxious slurping sound when I got to the bottom of the frappe, and then got up to leave. I almost threw the cup away, like any normal person would, but for some weird reason it had some sentimental value to me, seeing as it was My Last German Chocolate ice cream experience ever. I carried it out of the shop and into my car. I got home at around 5:30, after my pointless final therapy session and crawl through the town. “MOM, I’M HOME!” I shouted as I flung my leather purse up the stairs. My little brother ran up to me with the most excited look on his face. “Bethy! Mom got me the new version of Call of Duty!” he was practically jumping up and down, his tuft of bangs moving with him. “Wanna play with me?” “Sorry Todd, I have some homework to do. We can play tomorrow night, ok?” At least I would have one day to play with him before I left. He looked earnestly disappointed, and did his cute little frown/shrug combo before running down to the basement to play by himself. I worried about how he would take my suicide. I knew people were supposed to have this feeling of duty to their family members to stay alive and keep fighting through the pain and darkness of clinical depression, but I didn’t have it in me anymore. My mom came down the stairs with a basket full of laundry. She smiled big at me, put the basket down, and embraced me in a gigantic hug. I honestly couldn’t even handle how fake she was being. I halfheartedly returned the hug before pulling away. “Hi sweetie, how was your day? How was your therapy session? Did you get ice cream?” she asked, pretending to be interested, but I could see right through her facade of love. “School was fine. Therapy was fine. The ice cream was good,” I responded, trying my best to show her that I was not interested in talking. “Yeah? Tell me more! How’d your classes go? Did you do a lab in chemistry today? How was math? Did you get your test grade back? I’m sure you did great!” I almost lost it and told her to shut up and quit pretending to be interested in my boring-as-hell life, but I controlled myself. My cardinal rule was that if my ship was going down, I wouldn’t take anyone with me. One more day. I could make it one more day. “Yeah, it was fine. No grade back, and no lab,” I lied. We did do a lab, and I did get my test back, but I was not interested in continuing the conversation. Even more so, I wouldn’t be able to handle her congratulating me on my 98 on my math test. I didn’t care, she didn’t care, no one cared, so I didn’t bother. “I have to go do some homework,” I mumbled as I slinked out of the room and up the stairs. “Ok! Good luck! Let me know if you need anything!” she called after me. I made a weird growl/snort sound of disapproval before closing my door. I debated not doing my homework, seeing as my grade didn’t matter at all if I was dead, but I decided I wanted to leave my teachers and classmates with the best possible impression of me. I pulled out my Algebra II textbook and started the night’s twenty-six problems. Through the years, I frequently asked myself why I cared so much. Why I cared so much about what others thought of me. Why I cared so much about impressing everyone. Why I cared so much about being the perfect everything. But then there came a point when I couldn’t care anymore, because the caring was destroying me. So I stopped caring, but joke was on me because it just got worse after that. I never knew what this it was that was eating me piece by piece, but I had finally found the solution. It couldn’t hurt me anymore if I was gone. About half way through, my phone vibrated, telling me I had an infrequent text message. I picked it up, and read the message from Felicity. Hey Bethany! Are you free Saturday? If you are, we should hang out and go to the mall or something! I wasn’t really sure how to respond to this. I wasn’t exactly busy Saturday, but I was also not available. I mean, I knew Felicity didn’t really care if I couldn’t hang out considering she didn’t even like me that much, but I liked to make her think I thought she was doing a good job of pretending to be my friend. Again, cardinal rule. After I was gone, I didn’t want Felicity to blame herself. I wanted her to be able to go on living her life thinking how kind she’d been for helping a poor lost soul. How even after everything, she couldn’t do enough, and that would be the tragic story of her Good Samaritan soul. Sorry Fel, I can’t do Saturday :( I added the frowny face to pretend I was upset about it, but, truthfully, I couldn’t have been more thrilled to think that I would never have to go to the mall and pretend to have fun again. Aww ok :(( Maybe another time!! I miss hanging out with you! I snorted when this message came through. I didn’t know why everyone insisted on pretending to like me, because honestly, I had no likeable qualities whatsoever. I decided I didn’t feel like responding if it meant we would have to have a pointless conversation about how much we missed each other, even though we didn’t, and how much we loved each other, even though we barely even liked each other. There was nothing wrong with Felicity, or any of my friequaintances, which was exactly the reason why I disliked all of them so intensely. Felicity was as smart as a person could get while also still being socially adept, and her best friend, Jenna, was as good at art as some one could be without being a freak. They matched up perfectly, then, with the other set of besties, Ellie, the record breaking runner, and Leah, the musical prodigy. Jenna and Leah’s boyfriends were also perfect statues of male attractiveness. I hated all of them. I was almost finished with my homework when my mom called up to me with a fa la la voice saying that dinner was ready. “Coming!” I responded. I considered stabbing myself with the pair of scissors on my desk just so I wouldn’t have to sit through another fake love filled family dinner, but decided not to because I had promised I would make one more dinner. Besides, that was Barbaric. My family was gathered around the table in our usual dinner seats, as they always were when I rolled in five minutes after dinner was called. I sat down in the seat next to my brother and across the table from my mom and dad. “I was just telling Todd that I made you guys your favorite dinner! Panko chicken with peanut noodles and green beans,” She looked so falsely thrilled to be telling me about the soggy chicken and clumpy noodles that I lied about liking last month. My mom made a valiant effort in pretending to love me. I think she might even have tried loving me at one point, but gave up when she realized what a soul crushing disappointment I was destined to be. I mean, it probably would have been better for the both of us if she just got an abortion after she got pregnant with me before she and my dad got married, but, by the grace of God and Jesus Christ (not Jessica), she decided to keep me. She told the story like it was some kind of happily ever after, but I wasn’t happy, and there was going to be no ever after. People always said ‘the baby wants to live’, but I disagreed. If I’d had my choice, I would have been dead before I was born. “Thanks, Mom. I love this chicken,” I said with fake gratitude. I could lie all I wanted about how great I thought she was being to me, since it wouldn’t affect me for much longer. Our conversation, as always, was boring and pointless and stupid and meaningless and fake and corny and rehearsed and dragged out and awful. Todd wouldn’t shut up about his new video game, my dad kept talking about the promotion he got at work a month and a half ago, and my mom kept trying to bring me back into the conversation when I slipped out. “Are you alright, Bethy?” she feigned concern as per usual. ‘“Yeah, I’m ok, just thinking about homework.” I really found it humorous how well I was disguising myself. I never had thought I would actually be able to kill myself, since I thought my parents would know, but I was convinced that I was going to be able to get out. “I’m a little worried about you, actually. You’ve been isolating again,” she said. Shit. “No, mom, I’ve just been really busy. I’m going to the mall with Felicity on Saturday,” she nodded and seemed to accept yet another lie. More proof that she didn't really care that much. “Mom, may I please be excused?” Todd asked, and my mom excused him on account of the fact that he’d been bouncing around in his seat for a while. I got up with him, cleared my plate, and went back into my room. I didn’t have any more homework due tomorrow; the rest was all long term, nothing I had to worry about now. I sat down to write my note, which I’d decided was a necessity. I didn’t want it to be too bitchy, because I didn’t want to make my parents that sad, but I knew it was going to be hard to keep my anger and sadness out of the letter, especially considering I was about to die. Dear Todd, Mom, and Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to have to be this way, but I decided that it was going to be too hard for me and for you to keep living like this. I’m sorry I had to lie. I didn’t know how else it would work. I was just really sad all the time, and I couldn’t see myself getting any better. And I didn’t want you to have to keep pretending to be hopeful for and appreciative of my life. I’m sorry. I loved you. -Bethany P.S. I would like to be buried in the blue dress. I decided to erase that last part. It was probably the shittiest suicide note ever written, but I knew my mom and dad weren’t going to be that sad, and I figured Todd would get over it soon enough. He was resilient. It would probably be better for him anyway, because now he wouldn’t have to deal with me all the time. Plus, now he’d have a kick ass topic for his future college essay. I was getting pretty pumped about tomorrow, actually. The idea that I would be gone in less than twenty-four hours was the best depression aid I’d experienced. Forget the prozac. Give me plans for suicide and I feel great. I was so amped that I almost went ahead and grabbed the oxycontin out of the bathroom cabinet, from my dad’s surgery last month, and ended it right there. But I wanted to turn in my homework for tomorrow and get the grade back on my history test. I put the note in the deep recesses of my drawer, hidden between the Saint Michael’s Youth Group Leader and Jesus Loves Me! church tee shirts.Scrolling up and down my homepage on twitter, I heard a knock on the door. “Cookie service!” my mom’s sing-song voice made my skin crawl. I gagged a little bit. “Come in, cookie master,” I planted a wide, fake smile on my face. She came in with two double chocolate cookies and a glass of milk. “I heated up the milk for you!” she said, brandishing the plate and a glass in front of her. “How’s the homework coming along?” “I finished. I think I’m going to go to sleep soon. Thanks for the cookies,” she smiled. “Anything for you, princess! I love you” she insisted on calling me princess even though I was not beautiful, and I would never have a prince. She bowed out the door, which I had to get up and close because she always left it open. “Love you, too,” I mumbled. It was true. I did love my mom, but I didn’t need to stick around for her because she didn’t really love me. Like I’ve said, the only reason I’d ever even considered backing down and sticking around was Todd, but he would forget about me just like he forgot about the last version of Call of Duty. I decided to take a shower, The Last Shower, and cleanse myself in the tears of The Lord or whatever it is they do to people who are about to die. I didn’t know, nor would I ever know, because I could hardly walk into Confession and say ‘forgive me for the sin I am about to commit’. If there was a Hell, I was going there, because Jesus, both of them, actually, hates depression. Hallelujah. I made sure to shave my legs and armpits extra well so I’d look snazzy in my coffin. I even plucked my eyebrows and put on a face mask so I would glow even in my death. If all the people who pretended to care about me were going to show up to stare at me in a box, I figured I should look good, because at least then maybe they’d be like, ‘shit she was a babe maybe we should have befriended her’. I almost wrote down a list of do’s and do not’s for the embalmer at the funeral parlor so that she wouldn’t make me look like a fool, but then decided that might be overkill. I put my favorite footy pajamas on and climbed into bed. This was the last sleep I would ever wake up from. The last time I would ever lie in my bed. It pissed me off when people said death was like sleeping, because I’m pretty sure it’s not. Sleep is temporary, and death is permanent, so thank God for that. I woke up to my mom gently shaking me awake at 5:48, exactly one minute before my alarm went off. Why she couldn’t have waited for me to wake up on my own was beyond me. ‘Bethany, wake up sweetie!” her shrill voice annoyed the crap out of me. “meh,” I replied emphatically. “Hi, mom,”. “I wanted to wake you up to-” “And we can’t stop, no oh oh, and we won’t stop,” Miley sang to me from my phone in alarm form. I slid to turn alarm off. “to say goodbye. I won’t be home until around nine tonight, so have a good day! I love you!” she said. My stomach dropped. I was never going to see my mom again. She would never see me alive again. I had a sudden urge to tell her what I was going to do, but it went away as quickly as I came. She wouldn’t care. She’d probably encourage it, actually. She didn’t want me around anymore that I wanted to stay. “Bye, Mom,” I said, keeping my grogginess intact even though I’d never felt more awake. She kissed me on the forehead and left. I whispered love you, mom again as she left. I climbed out of bed and stepped on my backpack, and almost fell onto my face. I straightened myself before walking over to the mirror to decide how I wanted to look on The Last Day. I didn’t want to make it too obvious that today was special, so I just decided to wear my hair as I always did: clipped back on one side and wavy. Like every other day, I just put on some concealer to cover up the kidney bean shaped birthmark on my jaw and some mascara to make my eyes look wider and less asian. I put on my obscenely tight jeans, a striped red and white shirt, and my navy blue vans. I went downstairs to see my dad eating his small bowl of cheerios. He’s trying to ‘stay heart healthy and lose weight’. “Hey, buttercup! I made you and Todd some porridge. oatmeal, whatever you want to call it. You want brown sugar?” He, like my mom, was somehow already wide awake at 6:25 in the morning. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. I was eating The Last Bowl of Oatmeal when Todd came running downstairs, the buttons on his shirt in the wrong holes. “Hey Dad! Hey Bethany! Good morning!” Everyone was too damn peppy. Not that they weren’t always this way, but it was annoying me more than usual today. Another reason to leave. I proceeded to drink The Last Glass of Orange Juice, from a straw because I sucked and didn’t care about saving the planet, eat The Last Banana, and Go Pee The Last Time In The Downstairs Toilet. I snuck up to my room with the pink and green straw and hid it among the 471 other straws I’d sipped orange juice from in the past year and 106 days since I’d been diagnosed. At first, they’d proved as a sort of testament to my ‘strength’ for sticking around for so long, but now I just saw them as proof that I had waited to long. I didn’t want to add another straw to that pile. My bus came about seven minutes before Todd’s, and although he usually went early with me for who knows what reason, today I left on my own. I took The Last Walk To The Bus Stop. I stood waiting for about six minutes, and I started to question whether today was really the day. Maybe I should wait a little longer, until after I take the next French test, or until after I get to read the next book by my favorite author, I thought to myself. I started what I suppose could be called bargaining, but then again, my whole life had been a bargain. If Ellie didn’t win her race yesterday, I’ll wait. If Jenna breaks up with Eric, I’ll wait. If Leah doesn’t talk about her ‘big break’, I’ll wait. If felicity doesn't get an 100 on her most recent math test, I'll wait. I then proceeded to legitimately slap myself across the face. Twice, actually, because it wasn't hard enough the first time. I picked up a stick from by my feet and started to jab my stomach with the jagged end. This pain brought me out of my brief funk, and I knew that there was no waiting. Today was the day. Thanks be to God. I heard the bus coming up the street, dropped the stick, and got ready for The Last Bus Ride. "Good morning, Elizabeth," my bus driver mumbled as I mounted the Yellow Beast. He'd been calling me that since September. Eight months of bus rides later and I hadn't corrected him once. I walked to the middle where all the sophomores are supposed to sit and plopped down in my usual seat, alone. At least I’d never have to be the loser who sits by herself again. Five minutes into the ride and Justin Freemiller, of 86 Huckberry Street, tapped me on the shoulder. I'd been so freaking obsessed with him since like seventh grade, but in the fall I sort of lost interest. I didn't really have the energy to have a crush on anyone anymore. "Hey Bethany. How's it going?" He asked. For some reason he always tried to talk to me on the bus in the morning, but I never had anything interesting to say to him. "It's good. How're you?" I continued our pointless conversation. I don't know why he bothered. "I'm good! Thank God Mrs. Robertson changed the test date because I am not ready, ya know?" he paused and let me nod to agree with him even though I didn't care. "You going to the football game tomorrow?" He sorta blushed as he asked, probably because he would be embarrassed if anyone around saw him talking to me. "No, probably not. I have a family thing," I responded. "That's too bad. I would've liked to hear you cheering for us from the stands," he added awkwardly. I laughed a little and then turned away. I didn't want to burden him with pretending to enjoy talking to me anymore. The rest of the bus ride was uneventful, as usual, until about six minutes and thirty-three seconds before I got to school. I was counting every second seeing as there were very few left. The other Justin on the bus, who sat in front of me, turned around and made eye contact, so I took out my headphones. “Hey Bethany, do you have an extra pair of headphones I could borrow for the day?”, he asked, smiling as only Justin #2 could. I was about to tell him that I didn’t have another pair, but then I realized that I wouldn’t use them after today, so I took them out of my ears and handed them to him. “You can have them, actually,” I said while I placed them in his hand. “Are you sure? I’ll give them back at the end of the day,” he looked confused. “No, I don’t need them anymore, it’s all good, you have them,” I forced at him. He said thanks and plugged them into his phone. Damn, I was giving away prized possessions now. Shit was getting real. I got off the bus for The Last Time, and took The Last Walk Through the Entrance to the School. My locker was on the first floor even though every single one of my classes was on the third, and there were only two other sophomores who had the misfortune of sharing the domain with me. I went and took my chemistry textbook out, and then hauled myself up the two flights of stairs to homeroom. My girl crush, Susanna Summers, who was perfect in every single way, walked ahead of me. Her flowing blonde hair made mine look dull and dead in comparison, which made sense considering she had so much more to live for. Thirteen people said hi to her until she turned into her classroom, and I got a ‘bonjour’ from my french teacher from freshman year. Jenna and Eric were standing a little ways down the hall, probably whispering sweet nothings to each other, and I didn’t have the motivation to try to talk to them, so I went on my merry way and sat down at my desk alone. Since I’d sat here yesterday, someone had engraved #YOLO onto the fake wood in an act of fearsome rebellion. I certainly hoped that was true, that you only live once, because I sure as hell didn’t want to come back here. I was pretending to text Ellie, so my teacher wouldn’t think I was a complete loser, when, speak of the devil, she walked into my homeroom. “Hey Beth, how’s it going?” she asked while simultaneously swinging a desk chair around to sit and face me. Why she decided to come visit was beyond me considering there were plenty more interesting people in the halls to spend time with. “It’s going good,” I replied without making complete eye contact. “You. Me. Felicity. Jenna. Leah. Next weekend. New Nordstrom at the mall. We’re going,” she stated. I nodded, smiled wide for the hell of it, and exclaimed “Yeah! That’ll be so fun!” just for the hell of it. She looked a little surprised at how enthusiastic I was, but was cut off from saying anything by Mr. Perkins. “Ellie, you’ve gotta get to you own homeroom now,” he said from his stupid and creaky spinny chair in the corner. I was fairly convinced he knew Ellie’s name and not mine, but that’s what I get for being irrelevant. She put the chair back where it belonged because she was a good and considerate person, and then jaunted out, waving over her shoulder. Since I had no classes with her, this was probably the last time she’d see me before The End. “Bye Ellie! Good luck at your race today! You’ll be great!” I called after her, the words slipping out of my mouth like they’d been trapped in there forever, which I guess they had. At least now she’d have at least one good memory of me, even if the rest just included me being an empty, human-shaped box that took up unnecessary space. I’d tried so hard to make my friends actually care about me last year, and to their credit, they did a pretty good job of trying to include me even though, as Jesus said, I was isolating myself from my friends which leads to increased feeling of loneliness, sadness, and paranoia. She would always say how much the people in my life cared about me, how if I took of my blinders and looked around I would see that they were trying to pull me into their worlds, because they wanted me there. She thought that I had a poor perception of reality, and that the real world around me was filled with loving friends and family who wanted me here with them. She was convinced my life had a purpose. I was not. As per usual, no one sat next to me in homeroom. I was the weird kid who was between two empty desks, just pretending I didn’t notice or care. At this point, I really didn’t. I rose to say The Last Pledge of Allegiance, and then endured the last four minutes and thirteen seconds of The Last Homeroom. I tripped on my seat when we were released, and almost wiped out on my ass for the second time in twenty-four hours, but I caught myself on Robbie Iccune’s large torso. “Sorry, Robbie,” I apologized after I righted myself. He made a half smile/grin/smirk with his face pointed in my general direction but said nothing about my painful humiliation. I could feel the clock ticking in my heart during first period, and I almost killed the entire school during my second class because I left my bunsen burner running for four minutes with no fire lit. During third period, my teacher explained that Holden’s sadness was caused solely by the death of his little brother, and that death of a family member was the leading cause of depression. And maybe it was, but I had trouble controlling my rage and her inability to comprehend the fact that someone with such a normal, average, and ‘easy’ life could be depressed made me want to run from the classroom. But, like everyday of my life until now, I sat there and dealt with the pain. Twelve hours and I’d never have to deal with it again. I walked into the lunch room with my brown paper bag that was not actually paper but the reusable plastic that the grocery store charges a dollar per bag for. My acquaintances were sitting at the same table they’d claimed since the first day of freshman year. I would say we claimed the table but honestly I had no authority over anything, not even which white and gray speckled table I would sit at for twenty-three minutes a day. They were all talking to each other, sitting in the usual seats. Felicity next to Leah next to Leah’s boyfriend next to Jenna’s boyfriend next to Jenna next to Ellie, who had, by some miracle, appeared to lunch instead of disappearing to who-knows-where, next to me and back to Felicity. Felicity and Ellie only carried out conversation with me when Jenna and Leah were occupied with their boy toys, which was fairly frequently, I’ll admit, but even though I didn’t have to sit there talking to no one, I still felt alone. Ellie spent the entire lunch block telling us about this new diet plan she was on that was going to make her even faster and stronger than she already was. It always pissed me off when people talked about how healthy they ate because it felt like bragging, like, yeah, I buy all my food from whole foods and I’m gluten free and I only eat greek yogurt and let me tell you how healthy I’m pretending to feel. I contemptfully watched her nibble on the celery with some gross smelling bean sprout dip, and once again felt grateful that I didn’t have anything to make my body good for. The bell that called the end of lunch rang, and we parted ways, all saying “See you later! Text me!” and “Good luck on the test! See you tomorrow!” I joined in with my “Bye guys!” and did not add my signature see you at 8:13 tomorrow. I’d always imagined that saying goodbye to my surrpunders for the last time would be gratifying, but I felt nothing. I was numb at this point, no longer excited but no longer sad. If I were able to be numb forever I might just keep on keeping on, but I knew that the feelings would inevitably come back, and I would have to deal with the knowledge that I could have escaped. Easier to end my life now so I won’t have to endure more days just to do it later. I went upstairs to My Last Class. As I sat waiting for everyone to arrive at the classroom, I started forcing second thoughts on myself. It was not that I was getting cold feet, but surely I was supposed to start doubting myself at some point. Maybe if my family hated me I’d have a right to be depressed. Maybe if I’d been abused I’d have some grounds for what I was about to do. But I had an averagely good life with and averagely good family and averagely good friends, but I knew that I didn’t deserve a place on the earth, in my family, and around my friend group. I couldn’t hear my teacher thanks to the jungle of animals roaring on, around, and through my head. I left the classroom in a blurr. I barely acknowledged the sticker and 98 on the top of the test that I prolonged my life to see. I didn’t get any of my textbooks because I didn’t want to be like that kid from the chain email who dropped his stuff and the person who helped him pick it up changed his life and surprise he was going to kill himself but he didn’t. I didn’t want to be saved. I wanted it to be over. I walked to my bus in a daze and interacted with no one. All I thought was the time is now, over and over in my head. The time is now. THE time is now. The TIME is now. The time IS now. The time is NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. THE TIME IS NOW. I was hardly functioning enough to type the code 5779 into the garage pad when I got home. “MOM DAD TODD ARE YOU HOME IS ANYONE HOME SPEAK NOW OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE!” Since no one responded, I assumed I was all clear. I sat down at the kitchen table with my mom’s piles of recipes I’d hated strewn about, and wrote my second letter. To Whom This May Concern (namely Mom, Dad, Todd), I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I’m sorry for being depressed and making you work too hard. I’m sorry for not being a good enough daughter. I’m sorry for leaving you. I know, deep down, that maybe you wanted me to stay with you a little bit, but it didn’t change the fact that I am not OK. It is not your fault. It is my fault for setting myself up for failure. It is all my fault. I’m sorry. I will miss you. Know that I loved you. Thank you for everything. I’m Sorry. Love, Bethany This letter was also an extremely shitty suicide note, but I was shaking from anticipation. I poured myself a large glass of ice water, ran up to my to get the pills, and came back. I hadn’t given much thought to which room I wanted to die in, but I didn’t really feel like ending it all in my bedroom, so I figured the kitchen was a good as anything. From what I’d read online, I’d need to swallow all nine of the remaining pills and then block my throat so I couldn’t throw them up. My blood was pulsing through my veins at an alarmingly fast rate already. I took a big gulp of the water and swallowed all the pills at once. At first I felt nothing but a dull sense of satisfaction that I was actually able to do it, that finally I had lived up to the goal I set out to achieve. I placed a cloth on my face and tied it with a hair elastic, then layed down on my back on the sofa. For six minutes, nothing, but then Shitshitshitshitshit oh my god what have i done this is crazy oh my god i can’t breathe someone help me no make it stop i am ripping of the cloth I am trying to throw it up no why why shit oh my god stop make it stop no why why did i do this no shit shit shit shit i can’t breathe i cant see shit oh my god no no why make it stop i dont want this make it stop please god make it stop mom help me i cant breathe i cant see make it stop i dont want to die make it sto

Harry Potter

Dear World,
I have received a request from, I can only assume, my anonymous stalker asking for my thought on the latest Harry Potter movie (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, to those of you who are sadly unaware). And so, as I have never received a request, nor did I think that I would, I feel inclined to answer it.
I, unfortunately, was unable to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter because I has a math test the next day and my mother said no. However, I did see it the Friday directly following the Thursday of the midnight release. But when I was finally able to see it, I was pleased by the outcome. I'm glad that the director and producers decided to cut it into to parts because the is no way for them to compact the entire book into one movie, as it has been shown in some of the other films *cough*4th movie*cough*, and I also think that they cut off the movie in a good place. Had I been someone who had not read the books, however, I imagine that I would have been extremely confused by the happenings in the movie. (I refuse to see the Harry Potter movies for the first time with someone who hasn't read the books because, at that point, questions are intolerable.) There were some thing I wish they would have done differently, like when Harry was questioning Kreacher about the locket and escaping from the Lovegood's house, but overall, I thought it was well done. Indeed, there were parts that I really liked their take on, like the time they spent at the ministry and Harry and Hermione dancing in the tent.
But to answer my stalkers question, yes I have seen the Harry Potter movie, I enjoyed it, but I obviously like the books better that the movie.
Thank you for your time,
Isabella
P.S.
I'm going to be depressed when the last movie comes out because then I will have nothing to look forward to, Harry Potter related, at least.
P.S.S.
I was very sad when I finished the 7th book.
P.S.S.S.
I really want to go to the Harry Potter theme park in Orlando.
P.S.S.S.S.
Don't you just P.S.'s?
P.S.S.S.S.S.
I love you.

Who are you again?

Hello, friends.
I'm feeling extremely awkward writing this right now--why was I never fazed by the fact that i was talking to no one before? So, you're all (a.k.a. no one) probably confused because, in theory,I stopped blogging already. So what am I doing now? Well, for one, I am finalizing my decision to stop blogging. Or rather, I am un-finalizing it. Meaning I am NOT going to stop blogging forever and I am not abandoning this blog. My post may or may not continue to be scattered scarcely, just as they are now, but I will still be writing here occasionally. So...ya. I will be talking to you again in the near/distant future. BTdubbs, I officially have an Internet stalker-ish. An "anonymous" person commented on several of my pots saying thing like: we know you live in Massachusetts! We know you went on vacation and where you went! We know your brothers name!...mischievous, right?
Until we speak again,
I am cordially yours (especially you, dear stalker),
Isabella

My One True Love

There is not much that I have to say, or that I want to say. What I need to say is this: I love you Harry Potter. You complete my life. Without you, Harry, I am a lost cause. I know you'll be here forever; I'l always be right by your side. I love you Harry Potter.

And So The Fancy Has Struck Me...

...And when the inspiration calls, one can do nothing but answer. As it is night time, I will let it slide that it is summer and I am on the computer. And this post is similar to many others that i already have...about Computers (and the internet), Gaming Consoles, and the lack of Real, Hard Books.
So I have been trying to spend less time on the computer and more time enjoying the world outside. This was easier than I had expected. At first, there was the primary shock, but with time, it faded. Now I am used to enjoying the outdoors, and I am glad that I pushed myself (harder than I had previously done) to leave the cyber world behind. This is my first blog of the summer, and it feels weird.
My brother, however, has not. He spends countless hours everyday on his Xbox in our basement. The poor boy is at a loss.
During the schol year, I went on the computer each night before retiring. This summer I have been reading instead. But because I always read, it hasn't been a very large change. Whatever.
On another note:
My brother got his learners permit today, and when we were coming home from the orthodontist, my dad let him drive. WITH ME IN THE CAR! I had vehemently stated several times that I refused to get in the car with Nigel behind the wheel, but apparently I was misunderstood. I was defenseless, because I could hardly walk home on the highway, so I was inclined to let him drive me. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. I am mentally and physically scarred from this traumatic experience.

Read Me!

I am aware that it has been an excessively long time since I blogged. Do not scold. The reason? I am attempting to find myself a life, and (unfortunately) that is not something that can be searched for on Google. Nor can it be found anywhere on the computer. I wasted to much of Summer '09 on the computer. If you wish to learn more about that, divert your attention to Bored? Me too. (Again). So I will not be posting much over the summer, but I will be occasionally, so check back every few weeks for more on my average life.
Happy Summer.
~Isabella

School (Or Should I Say Summer, When It Is Hot, Like Leonardo DiCaprio)

School is almost over! Yippe! Hooray! Two more days!
It is a very exciting time of year, this mid July-ness. Mid July-ness is nice. Very nice. You know what would make it nicer? Late July-ness,when there is no school. That would be nice.
Shall I tell you a story?
STORY TIME!
Once Upon A Time, I was in English class. And our teacher gave us postcards and stamps to send to her this summer. Hmm...Interesting? I think so.
New topic:
In school, we recently finished reading Romeo & Juliet. I actually didn't think it was so bad, and the Shakepearean English became easier to read. We also watched the movie. My thoughts? Leonardo DiCaprio is hot.
That is all.
~Isabella