There is a girl.  A girl in the corner.  Sitting and crying, her frail body shakes with tears.  The room is dark, the ceramic tile cold against her feet.  The shower is running, but no one is in it.  The girl is the only one in the room; she leaves the water running so no one hears her cry.  The pain is unbearable, the pain of losing someone so close.  He took his life, said there was nothing left for him to live for.  More tears begin to fall as she remembers their last conversation…

“What about me, aren’t I worth living for?”
“Of course babe, of course.”
“Are you going to be okay, are you going to make it through the night?”
“Sure hon, yeah.  I’m just a little sad.  Sleep with do me good, maybe a bath…”
“I love you – remember that.”
“I know babe, I know”

    Just a little sad?  There’s an understatement.  How was she supposed to know he was lying?  That the bath would be in his own blood?  That the sleep would lay him down to rest…forever? Sitting in the corner, crying, she wonders what it would feel like to die.  Is there anything after?  She hopes that maybe, just maybe, there is something after, somewhere where he will be waiting to greet her.  Futile hopes from a girl who has never believed in life after death.
    A knock sounds from the door.  Her mother’s voice, requesting to know when she will be finished with her shower.  Not realizing time has passed, the girl jumps up from the corner, calls out to say she will be finished in five, and steps in the shower to wash away all evidence of her tears.  Five minutes later, she steps out of the shower.  Feeling refreshed physically, but distressed mentally, the girl slips on some nightclothes.  Pulling back the covers, she settles into her bed and begins to read the most recent Stephen King thriller.  Captivated by her book, she doesn’t hear her mother enter the room.  At the sound of her mothers voice, she is pulled back to reality and jumps into the air.  Apologizing, her mother asks if she is okay.  Okay?  Sure, she’s okay.  Her mother leaves the room satisfied, a smile on her face.  Okay!?!?!?!  The girl wants to scream.  How can she be okay?  Her best friend has died, left her here alone to face life, and her mothers believes she is OKAY?!?!?!?!?!  Furious and fuming, the girl can no longer concentrate on her book, so she turns off the light and turns over, hoping to find some form of sleep that doesn’t seem to be there.
    She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when she opens her eyes her room is lit by the light of the moon, and she can hear her parents whispering outside her door.  Are you sure she’s okay? Her dad questions her mother.  Oh yes, she’s fine.  Just a little stressed.  The girl cannot believe what she’s hearing – her parents think she’s just A LITTLE stressed?  What the fuck?  Pushing these thoughts out of her head, she listens in to more of the conversation.  Her dad was asking her mother more questions.  And the doctor, the psychologist, how did he say she will react?  There is a pause; it is obvious her mother is thinking, choosing her words carefully.  Finally, she sighs and responds.  He says there may be some, withdrawal.  Maybe some self-abuse, depression, lots of sleep...  Her parents must have walked away from the door, because she couldn’t hear them anymore.
    WHAT IS WITH ALL THESE UNDERSTATEMENTS!?!??!  Some self-abuse…depression…lots of sleep…what were they thinking?  They were just going to let her mope around in a depressed mood all day, bleeding from the wrists?  What was their problem?  She couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle the stupidity and lack of people who care.  She couldn’t handle…wait.  Struck by inspiration, she gets up from her bed.

    A little self abuse.
    The knife glows silver in the moonlight, crimson blotches already stain its sharp edge.
    A little depression.
    This world is nothing, meaningless; maybe he will be there waiting on the other side.
    And lots of sleep.
    Sleep, pleasant and soothing, her body begins to relax at the very thought of eternal sleep.

    But how were they to know that a little self-abuse brought so much freedom?
    That a little depression can cloud your judgment?
    That this time, when she falls asleep, she isn’t going to wake up?

    Such common side effects of being a teenager.  Self-abuse.  Depression.  Sleep.

    Such understatements.