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Tears slide down my cheeks as I re-read the carefully annotated notes of my life. There are quotes of things I’ve said in the privacy of a session, and I hate that the Devils got their hands on this. My worst moments are laid bare here, along with notes from therapists. The words blur at times between how small the font is, but since I’ve read this multiple times, the words continue in my mind.

I didn’t even know Dr. Dowdall was considering giving me a new diagnosis! She never discussed it with me, so each word feels like a punch to the gut.

My face presses against the cool window pane as I see her words in my head.

“Noor Agassi tends to detach from reality at the first sign of conflict…”

She’s wrong. It takes a large amount of pain, whether emotional or physical for me to disassociate. It’s how I’ve learned to survive. If I can’t fight my way out of it, then I find a way so they can’t touch me. My therapist doesn’t know me well enough to say the things she does in her notes.

I’m a snotty mess as I crouch here. I can’t seem to stop crying, and my nasal cavities are sore as fuck. There’s a ledge by the window and I managed to get my ass up onto it without falling, despite how narrow it is. I can’t even shift my weight to grab my knife in this position, which is just as well. I’m not in the best state of mind to hold it right now.

I hate the way people see me. There’s a lot of darkness I battle on a day to day basis. Too many grounding tools found in therapy are for those not in an active state of crisis, and that seems to be my normal circumstance. My eyes flutter closed as I inhale slowly.

One thing that Dr. Dowdall mentioned at my last visit was to try using the five to one technique to ground myself. It’s quiet in the room, no one is coming for me, and the shit on this paper doesn’t change who I am. It’s simply helped to shape me.

Slowly, I begin to identify things around me as I open my eyes. I can see the tower from here, and I gaze at it for a long time, imagining how the clock bell will sound. It’s odd, because it should have rung by now…

The deep sound of the bell begins to toll, and I make a face as I realize how heavily I checked out of things.

Making a more concentrated effort to stay aware of the present, I continue to identify the five things I can see. Then, I move on to finding four things I can hear, and it’s like the bubble around me bursts. I can hear the wind as it rushes past the window, the cars that are going by, the occasional kid walking by.

Fuck, what time is it?

Abandoning the exercise, I half scramble, half fall off the ledge as I get up. Walking to the door, I press my ear against the solid wood to see if I can hear anyone in the hallway. This classroom doesn’t have a little window to see out into the hall, making me frown.

Opening the door slowly, I stick my head out to see it’s completely silent out there. Folding up the flyer, I stick it into the waistband of my skirt, hating that the blazer has fake pockets. It’s just another way boys get more functional clothing. Fucking cuntsicles.

I step out and begin walking back toward my locker. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find my backpack. The school is a ghost town, and I finally manage to walk past a clock to find it’s after three. Fuck, school’s already let out for the day.

A girl gasps as I turn to face her, and I blink slowly at her. I know I look like a mess. I need to find the bathroom soon because I have to pee and wash my face so that I won’t scare my foster parents. One of them is supposed to pick me up today since it’s Thursday, which means that Rachelle is working from home with clients.

“I heard you killed yourself in the bell tower,” she whispers.

“Wonderful,” I rasp. My voice is hoarse from hours of disuse and lack of water. “Now the student body is offing me through suicide. That’s lovely.”

The girl appears to be a sophomore and she has a camera in her hand. I don’t know what clubs are open after school, but she appears to be here for that.

“I didn’t…I mean…”

Shaking my head, I walk around her and continue walking until I find a bathroom. I’m very over this day, and still need to get home. I’m digging deep to not make people who don’t know any better cry.

Pushing the door to the bathroom, I blow out a sigh of relief that it’s empty. The school feels like a shell of its former self right now, but then that’s how I feel on an average basis, so it feels comforting.

This dark, morbid energy feels as if it's following me as I use the restroom, blow my nose, and wash my hands. I feel wrung out and tired. It wouldn’t be too much of a leap to wonder if I did decide to kill myself, but even the thought of it feels like too much effort.

That’s where my heart and mind are at right now.

Drying my hands, I toss the paper towels in the trash before leaving the bathroom. My eyes widen as I walk down the hallway and see my backpack still exactly where I left it by the lockers. It seems a bit like a miracle until I get closer and see there are sticky notes, flowered stationary, and notebook pages taped to my locker. I’m in a corner of the hallway, so I’m assuming students either did this at the end of the day, or the teachers here are clueless.

Pulling at one of the pages, I expect to see the flyer of my private hell. Instead, it’s a letter.

My heart slams into my ribs as I stare at the letter and I begin to feel intensely dizzy. Laying my hand on the wall of lockers to keep from falling over, I drop the letter as if it’s on fire and pull off another.

Twelve letters later, I’m crying again. There have to be fifty letters on my locker. Every single one has a different message, but they all wish me well as I shuffle off this mortal coil. They also offer me a different way to die.

There aren’t any last names, however, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to have an idea as to which students these are from.

I fucking hate people.