I've been like this for two days.
My head is pounding as if it's about to explode, the wall above me is slowly drawing nearer and nearer. All I can see is darkness. The ceiling is low and wooden, the source of many painful splinters, forcing me to keep my neck arched downward at an impossible angle. I'm stuck in a sitting fetal position, but I can't really feel it anymore, since I'm being compressed and pushed and squeezed to death so slowly that I've gone numb. I'm breathing the same air over and over again, my lungs aching for a taste of real oxygen. My hands press up against these walls, but they won't move. They can't.
I know I'm going to die.
That's why I'm typing this right now. A weak glow radiating from my cell phone screen dimly illuminates this dark hellhole. I have tried exactly 43 times to call my parents, my friends, my brother, 911 - nothing works. There is no signal here. It's that feeling that makes you wish you could hit the reset button - the one where you've got the solution to everything right in front of you, but it's just out of reach. Or the one where you just want to go back in time and take everything back and save yourself.
The battery is at four - no, three percent. I had better finish this fast. I want to say goodbye to my friends and family. It sickens me to imagine what they will do when they see how I've died. I don't want them to think of me and remember a rotting corpse scrunched up into a ball so tightly that its knees are lodged deep into its skull. But there is no use in wishful thinking.
I can get ahead of myself sometimes. I'll tell you what happened. Maybe you'll learn from my mistakes.
My name is Gethsemane (JETH-suh-mane). I'm just an innocent fourt-... Nevermind that, I'm just a fourteen year old teenager, whose greatest worry was whether the most popular guy in school was going to ask me to an upcoming dance, or whether I'd be able to get rid of the giant zit that decided to pop up right in the middle of my forehead. But now I'm wondering if I'll live long enough to finish this warning. If my blood flow doesn't cut off and kill me soon, dehydration will. My throat feels as if someone forced me too swallow a package of nails. But enough with my complaining - I've got to get this message out before he comes back. I know this will be the last time.
I was with the popular crowd. I always have been. There's this girl - Kelly - that always has her nose stuck in a book. She's such a nerd, I had thought, oblivious to the way she really was deteriorating inside every time we voice the fact. Her whole family is freaking creepy. Her parents never show up to anything, even fun stuff that isn't school related. She never even says anything.
My best friends - Claire and Jody - and I used to send her these texts - Just to joke around, you know? - With messages, telling her we were going to beat her up, or that she should just "go die in a hole." We... we never thought she would take us seriously. We loved teasing her and watching her run off, scared. We were terrible. It went on for years. It was about three days ago that we got the news.
One Monday afternoon, on Halloween night, Kelly committed suicide.
