"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I’ve done horrible things. I’ve made friends, online, friends who helped me through the bad and through everything else. I’ve gotten in trouble for having those friends, and the only thing I could think of doing was telling them I was dead, because really, that’s all I had wanted, and still want to be.

Every time I think about what I had told them, I sneak to the computer and log onto a secrete account and sit there for hours, debating whether I should tell them the truth or not. When I do go to type, I read something they said. They said that I was a wonderful person they wish wasn’t dead, and they wish was alive and talking to them. When I read that I begin to have an Anxiety attack… I don’t know how to control them… all I know is that the only way to stop them is to tell those people the truth, and if I do that, they will hate me… They will wish I was really dead.

If you’re reading this, you may think that I’m idiotic, and stupid, and I agree. I don’t know what to do… Please help.

I’m…
I’m…so…so…sooo…
I can’t write it..