Sometimes I'd catch myself looking at my reflection in windows and wonder who I was. Where I was going. Then the image would change and it wouldn't be me, just some nebulous shadow person.

I hope they remember the good stuff, when I was a baby, a toddler, when they still had hopes and dreams for their little girl, their miracle child. In truth they were good to me. They were only doing what they knew how to do; what they thought was best.

I want to tell them, "Chip, Kim, there is no way to suicide-proof a person.

But she never just accepted me for the way I was.

I hear you. I just don't believe a word you say.

I wish I could tell my parents, " If you want to help me, help me die.

What's the point of living if you don't belong anywhere?