Snippet #2352080

It started like this. Meet someone you end up considering a friend. Something happens that seems awkward for a moment. Then you kiss and are instantly in love, right? Well, aside of something like that actually being true, something bad always comes out of happiness. In this case, one of them just gives up while the other is eaten alive by whatever goddamn thing happened and ends up becoming sad and depressed. Depressed doesn't sound too bad, does it? Well if that's what you think, you've obviously have never been depressed. When someone's depressed, the only thing they feel is hurt and pain and more than half of the time they don't even know why they're so upset. They feel a tug in the pit of their soul. A tug in the middle of their being. A tug that just edges them on. Making them become sad and miserable. Pushing them to a point that no human being can understand unless they themselves had felt it. This point it called by many names. Some call it the high point in depression, some call it the end, and some call it the point of no return, which is the name I prefer. This is the point where the being that has came to that point decides there's no meaning in their life and that they can't go on. That's when the blade comes out. That's when the noose is tied. When the bottle of pills come out and a gun. The blade will cut, the noose will hang, the bottle will be emptied, and the gun will be shot.The sad thing about all this is the fact that it is caused by love gone bad; and I think that's one of the worse things in the world.

I hate being a girl sometimes. You have periods that come with bitchy attitudes. You need to keep up your figure and wear a hell of a lot of makeup to make yourself feel pretty and feel like other people will think your pretty. You have to wear bars that just get uncomfortable after a while. You can be a whore and get upset when someone calls you a whore. You get treated like guys property with them calling you their girl. And you fall in love fast and hard just because the guy you go out with tells you they love you and gives you a good kiss and feels on you a little. Well, if you ask me, I hate all that shit and wish I could just quit it all. But, damn, I can't do that.

I look around my room and see the small knife I've been using. It's not a pocket knife, just a small knife with a stone handle and a silver blade. It sit's on my dresser in front of my mirror next to my hair brush. I look closely at the dresser and all the things on it from where I sit on my bed. There's my pink striped makeup case containing eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip gloss, and various other makeup related utensils at the far left of the dresser. Next to it is two bottles of hair spray and my perfume. Next to that is a small wooden jewelry book that contains a few rings, silver bracelets, and silver necklaces. I stop looking at the stuff on the dresser and my eyes land on my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair is perfectly done and in place. I wear my little pink girly dress showing off the light skin tone. Around my neck hangs my golden necklaces. I have a faint smile on my face, but I know the pain behind it. I look at the suitcase on my bed and then look down and faintly close my eyes.

Over the pass mouth I guess, Jon and four other dumbasses who messed up their relationships and have a girlfriend or boyfriend that's all depressed and shit now decided to hit up this place all the way in Ireland. Now me and these two others are being forced to pack our bags and go to some dainty little town in Ireland. Ireland for Christ sake! I open my eyes and look right at my left wrist that's on my bed holding me up by my hand as I sit. I'm wearing my golden bracelets on each wrist, but the more balk bracelets are on my left to cover the scars. Those damn scars. I always have to hide them so no body asks any questions.

I stand up from my bed and walk over to the mirror. I stare at myself in the mirror and smile that small fake smile. I let out a sigh and grab everything off my dresser and stuff it in my suit case. After all the stuff is in the suitcase, I stare at it and look for a minute. The knife was still sitting on my dresser. I turn around and tilt my head at it slightly. I walk across my floor slowly and pick it off the dresser. As my hand was reaching for the knife, I caught my eyes again in the mirror. It was like I was telling myself that what I was going to do was wrong and I shouldn't do it. But I shook it off and pick the knife up, walked back over to my bag, and put it in my makeup bag. After that, I closed my suitcase and dragged it out of my room and throw my ever so clean and empty apartment. I wanted to beat the traffic to the airport. "Off to Ireland." I told myself sarcastically and stepped in the elevator, thinking about how the other people there are going to be like.

((OOC: Kinda long, sorry! Anyways, we'll just write the first post as if we're leaving our homes and heading to the airport. We're not going to do a post on the plane ride there, just the post leaving your home and the post arriving there.