I thought someone would have realized by now that I’d changed over the past eighteen months; that my smile never fully reached my eyes, the same eyes that didn't hold the old light they used to.
Maybe everyone thought I constantly wore my sleeves down because I was cold, not to hide the scars that were a permanent reminder of when I had first tried to take my life last year. Perhaps no one even thought to think twice about the way I’d begun to exile away from everyone, keeping to myself wherever I could.
It was possible no one even cared.
I desperately wanted to believe that someone did worry about me. That there was someone out there wanting to ask if I was okay and cared if I wasn’t; someone that was there for me when I needed it the most, and had arms to hold me when I cried.
I sighed as I picked up my note from last year, reading it over and over. I felt a pain in my chest, the same pain I had felt when I wrote it.

'To whoever finds me,
I'm sorry. Truly, whoever you may be. I know the sight of my sixteen year old body, lying bloodied and cold, will haunt you for the rest of your life. So yeah…Sorry.
To everyone else – screw you.
Your constant bullying and abuse caused me to believe that no one cared about me. Not even my teachers or family members, which then led me to believe that the only way out of this suffering and pain was through death. I hope you’re happy.
Don’t bother mourning me, you obviously didn’t bother to be kind or compliment me when I was alive, so don’t do it when I'm dead. If you didn’t like me when I breathed, then why should you like me when my heart has stopped?
I suppose there’s a number of questions running around in your head right now; “Why didn’t she see someone?” and “Why didn’t I see the signs?” might be two of those questions. To answer both of those, and any other questions you may have, here’s my simple answer:
Even the best fall down sometimes.'

A few tears had rolled off my cheeks and onto the sheet in front of me, looking like little clear paint splatters. No one but me would even know they’d ever existed, for by the time they’d found my body, my heart would have long stopped beating and my skin would be cold.
With a shaky hand, I pressed my black pen to the open page in my notebook, thought for a while, and then started to write:

'Aren’t things supposed to get better over time? After all, that’s what everyone says. “In the end, everything will be okay, if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” Yeah right. It’s the end for me, and yet, nothing’s okay.
Big surprise there.
So how exactly did I get to this place? The same place I was at last year? Well, it started with a snide remark here, and then a rude comment there. Soon enough, everyone had jumped on the ‘Bully Morgan Henley Train’, and were intent on never getting off. Even when I’d first tried to commit suicide, they’d stayed right where they were.
So here we are, a year exactly from my first attempt. After I got out of the hospital, the teasing and the ill-treatment continued. I would have been wrong if I’d expected it to have changed, and I would be wrong again if I were to think anything ever would.
Maybe it’s for the best this way. Maybe I was one of those people who are born to show everyone how cruel this world can be. Maybe I was never intended to do great things; maybe I was. But who knows? I could have cured Cancer, found a new species of sloth, or discovered a country.
But because of my oh-so-wonderful peers, we’ll never know.
Adios cruel world.'

Picking up the two packets of Panadol next to my bed, I popped all forty eight tablets into my hand. Filling my mouth with water, I swallowed a quarter of them. When I’d downed the rest of the packets, I took my small orange pocket knife from the drawers next to my bed, spun it between my fingers like I’d done countless other times, and pressed the blade over the raised skin on my wrist.
In one swift motion, I slit the skin open, blood instantly starting to leak down my scar-blemished arm and staining the sheet beneath me. Quickly swapping hands, I cut my other wrist in the same spot where I had last year. Both wrists were now letting ounces of blood leak from my body.
Slumping down on my mattress, I closed my eyes. I felt myself slowly fade away, knowing that this time, I wasn't going to fail.