I step out of my car, shutting the door behind me, and slowly approach the entrance to the school. It's my first time coming here since the incident and I didn't know how everyone would react to me being back knowing what I tried to do a few weeks ago.
Fortunately for me, this isn't some cliché high school movie and the most I get are stares as I
Iinhale the calming scent of salt water as I stand by the pier. School ended about an hour ago and instead of going home I find myself here, watching as the water overlaps in small waves, glistening in the sun. I probably shouldn't be here right now, considering what happened the last time I was at the pier but I needed somewhere to clear my mind and the pier is o
LOOKINGat colleges is hard. Especially when you don't even know what you want to do with your life. Talking with Mr. Williams helped me realize that I should really take back control of my life and start preparing for my future. But that's the thing. How am I supposed to prepare for the future when I don't know what I'm preparing myself for?
THEworst part about losing someone is losing them when you least expect it. It's not every day you have your parents break the news to you that your best friend has committed suicide. It was one of those days where I just had that gut feeling that something was bound to go wrong–and trust me, I’ve had more than one of those days–but never in my life could I have imagined something going this wrong.&
PRETENDINGto be okay, even though I'm clearly not, isn't easy. It also isn't easy being expected to live my life and go back to the way things were before. But, I don't think people seem to realize that for me, nothing is as it was before. It's been three weeks since she's been gone and instead of things getting easier with time everything seems to be getting hard
IT'Sbeen one month and two weeks since her death, and I can feel myself drifting away more and more from reality with each passing day. I feel numb. As if I felt so much during these past few weeks that now, I feel nothing. Some might say that I'm depressed, which by the way is the fourth stage of grieving according to the school's counselor.
WHENMrs. Carter,mybest friendsmom, shows up at our door step with a flustered look on her face and a envelope in her hand, I am completely taken by surprise. I haven't seen or spoken to her since thefuneral and didn't expect to after tha
Ienter my therapists' office after school despite my insistence to my mother that there's no reason for me to go anymore and that sending me to these sessions are pointless and a waste of money. "Katherine." I acknowledge the middle-aged woman as I plop down onto the love seat in the middle of the room.
I'Mnotonly sleep-deprived but starving as well. After sitting through a few classes and being scolded in each one for not focusing, I finally find myself sitting at a lunch, table staring down at my tray of tater tots. "I can't believe you just did that." I hold my stomach as I double over