Hand written, in a lined journal. It's neat.

As my life flashes before my eyes
I’m wondering will I ever see another sunrise?
So many won’t get the chance to say goodbye
But it’s too late too pick up the value of my life

Date: Fourteenth of November, Year 2009.
Day after To Write Love on Her Arms.
Time: Long overdue.

It was a dark and stormy night.
It wasn't. But this is.
This is a journal. I'm supposed to write and reflect. It's for my own good, and botox lady a.k.a little miss sunshine counselor who's supposed to magically make me a happy person forever, wants me to write in it to... Well I can't remember what she said, it was something about true feelings and crap, but to cut to the chase, I'm supposed to write in this. We'll see.

Well to start things off. I'm sick. Whoop de doo.

---

Hand written, in the lined journal. Neatly scrawled, a lot of force has been applied to the page. Smudges here and there.

But where we're headed we have never been,
Past the pavement that we used to walk,
Past the people that we used to know.
Now come on, go

Date: Sixteenth of November, Year 2009.
Time: It's dark outside.

So I decided to write everything in parts. I'll piece it together eventually and fill in the missing bits. Eventually.

---

Let's start from the end shall we? Or the middle. This was the end. And the beginning. And the middle.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the sharp white light, watching as the room blurred and focused, just like one of those movies. As the little pixels faded from her sight, she blinked and squinted the people hovering above her.

“She’s awake.”

She stared blankly at the doctor as he bent closer. “What do you remember," came the distorted voice. It seemed far away, yet the mouth in front of her moved. She didn't utter a word.

"What do you remember?" The words were clearer now, but she still didn’t know how to answer them.

Screaming, she remembered, her parents shouting at each other. The slamming of the door. The crash of the mirror. The beads of blood forming at the edges of her cuts. The pain. Again and agin and again. The voices fading. Then darkness.

Now light. The blinding white light.

She swallowed hard, but remained silent. Last time she opened her mouth, to say it didn't go well would have been a gross understatement.

Then her parents burst in. She panicked.

Her stomach flipped and bile rose in her throat. The bedpan was in place as she heaved. Her chest rose and fell, tears stung her eyes. She waited a moment before the nausea subsided, before falling back against the pillow, tears trickling into her hair, streaming down her cheeks.

“Breathe.”

It was so hard to breathe, so hard to control the heart that threatened to burst right out of her chest, its pulse thudding in her ears. The heart that kept her alive. She was alive.

---

((ugh, dunno what I've gotten myself into by starting this. D: hope it was okay.))