That same piercing screech in her voice every time at the hospital. "Do something!" When I slit my wrists. "Help her!" The last time too. "Somebody help her. Help us!" You're helpless, both of you. All of us.

Girls scare me more than boys. Boys are cruel. Girls are mean.

No one else knows I'm alive, which means they won't notice when I'm gone.

Who will see you through the darkness? "Me," I key in the answer. "I'll find my own way.

She's still doing it, pushing me into situations I can't handle, making me cope. She knows I can't cope.

I knew right then and there nothing was ever going to change. It wouldn't matter if I was tall or short or fat or thin or absent every day. I was a loser from birth.

I had to fight so hard not to cry.