I plummet deeper and deeper into my previously existing depression. I don't seek attention. I seek friendship and love.Companionship. I come home wondering what she'll say next, my mom. Our already failing relationship continues sinking and I find myself empty. Barren, there's no emotions or feelings. I continuously find myself blank faced and powerless. My failure to communicate with her just makes things worse. I look up, only to tell her, "I'm fine." and walk away completely emotionless. Am I afraid? or is it my scarce emotion that is giving me the inabilities to express myself? I continue asking myself, 'does she notice me? my goals?' I'm unsure about almost everything. I get home and there she is, watching me, noticing my every flaw, my every movement. I've tried once before this time.
When I was nine I attempted to tell her about my now severe depression. I second-guess myself whenever there is any decision to be made. If it's the wrong one, I get beaten to the point of unconsciousness.
I am now fourteen and I'm a freshman in high school. I get nervous, and within that nervousness there is a voice. It keeps telling me that if I try again to tell her, she will once more tell me that I'm over reacting and being childish.

Years pass and I'm now isolated.
From the world. From her.
Graduation day and I look in the rows of familiar faces to see that no one has attended. As expected, no one is there and I'm yet to be noticed. I then realize that I'm anonymous.
My name gets called, "Brittany Hemswourth." I walk up, receive my award, and resume sitting, without applause. I figured, 'no one cares, why bother?' Maybe it's self inflicted, I'm not sure. I chose the wrong path and years later, I am regularly doing drugs and drinking.

I have no job.

no friends.

no family.

absolutely nothing.
I am completely certain that no one cares or enjoys my presence. I sit wondering if I will ever get any better.



Nope.

More years pass and I am now celebrating my thirtieth birthday,dealing drugs.
A man named Robert doesn't pay me that day, that day, a man named Robert also gets brutally murdered. 'Blood is everywhere, red tarnishes my memory.' I feel paralyzed, unable to speak, to look at myself, to even move. Tears rushing down my face, it's a waterfall of emotion from my past. Strip away the fear. He's dead. It was peculiarly satisfying I will always remember his terrified face. You know what he was scared of?


Me.
For once, I feel powerful.

On this night, I hold a gun. Not to anyone else but myself. This night I also ponder 'what if she had loved me? what if she had cared? would I be here right now?'
I'm here now, holding this gun, raised to my head...

I pull the trigger.
Would life be different?