When I was six a man came to our school and killed all the kids in my class except me. My big twin brother was in the same class as me and he died sitting next to me. I saw everything. I saw my teacher die.

When I was nine I wrote a letter to Santa. I told Santa that I didn't want to wake up tomorrow. I told him life was too hard. My mom took me to the hospital. They told me I was sick. That I had a boo-boo in my head and I needed it fixed. They tried to fix it.

When I was eleven I got jumped walking home from school and was nearly beaten to death. They jumped me because I was a punk.

When I was twelve my baby-sitter tried to strangle me to death. She said I was too needy. She said I was spoiled. She said I was annoying. A nuisance. Selfish. I had a migraine and asked for my pain medication. She was fifteen.

When I was fourteen my mom was hit by a drunk driver. She died in the driver's seat next to me.

When I was fifteen I got pushed into walls and called names for being gay. I was beaten up every day during the last week of school for being a cock-sucking emo faggot. I had to switch schools. Twice.

I wonder what's going to happen this year. We had to move again. So I could be close to the hospital. My depression and anxiety keep getting worse,and worse,and worse.
Everything keeps getting worse and worse.

But I have to be happy. I have to be happy now. For my dad, my big sister, and my little sister. I have to be strong, and happy. Happy I have to be happy.

I have to be happy.

Frankie…he wants me to be happy.

He told me. But how? I don't know how. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. Maybe I should tell Sissy so I can go to the hospital and get some sleep.

I'm worried. I don't want to get hit or shoved or yelled at. I don't want Dad to be disappointed every time he sees me. I don't want to be a disappointment.

I'm sixteen and I've never been to a party. Maybe at this new school with Frankie I'll be able to be 'normal'. Normal. I want to be 'normal' like Frankie.

Frankie. He's my best friend, my only friend.

He's so nice. He didn't even get mad when I told him I was gay. Gay.

Dad...he didn't take it to well. No. Not well at all. It hurt. It hurt.

I need a knife.

Cut. I need to cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut.

It hurts.

I need to go to the hospital. My arm is bleeding. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that. Sissy is going to be mad. I'm supposed to be happy. Happy.

What does that feel like? To be Happy. I need to be happy.

Frankie. He makes me happy.

I think Sissy is coming...

Yeah, Sissy's here. She takes the knife. I feel her grabbing my arm. I hear her crying. She's not supposed to be sad. I made her sad. I'm not supposed to make Sissy sad. Sissy's just like me. She has a boo-boo in her head,too.

I'm gonna hit myself. I need to. I need to punish myself for making Sissy sad. I'm not supposed to make her sad.

I'm a bad brother.

Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!

She's telling me to stop hitting myself now. She looks sad. I need to make her happy. Smile. Smile. Say I'll be okay.

“I'll be okay. Don't worry. I'm okay. I'm fine. Just a little blood. I don't need to go to the hospital. Don't be sad. Don't cry.” She grabs my hand and takes me to the bathroom. She rinses off the cuts. It stings.

“Don't cry.”

My face is wet. Why am I crying? Why am I crying?

Oh. I remember now. I'm a faggot. I'm a cock-sucker. I'm a freak. I'm a loser. I'm stupid. I'm an emo pussy. I'm pathetic. I'm gonna die alone. Alone. I don't wanna be alone.

I'm so tired. I need to tell Sissy that. She's wrapping my arms with bandages. I need to tell her I'm tired.

“Sissy?”

“Yeah, Gee?”, she whispers.

“I'm tired”

“I know Gee. I know”

“I don't wanna be tired anymore. I wanna be happy.”

Why is she crying?

“Sissy, did I make you sad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a selfish brother.”I say as we walk back to my room.

“No,Gee you're not selfish.” I open the door and step inside, making my way to my bed and getting under the covers.

“I'm gonna go sleep now” the door is open by a crack.

“Okay”

“Sissy?” I poke my head out of the covers.

“Hm?”

“I love you”

She smiles. I made her smile. I made her happy.

“I love you, too Gee. Always.” She closes the door and I’m alone, again. Why am I always alone? Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should go drink bleach. Or hang myself. Or overdose.
I just need to die. Die. Dying. Dead. What three awful words they are.
Just like Pathetic, Freak, and Loser. Maybe I would be better off dead. It would be so much easier if I just ended it.
No. Stop it. Stop it. No.
What about Frankie? Or Sissy? Or Leah? Or Dad? No, I need to sleep.
I need to sleep. Just sleep.

Sleep. Why is it so hard? Why is it so hard to be happy?
I’m so tired.