Someone, somewhere, once said something about waking up in a hospital. That person went on to say something about it meaning something. The problem is, waking up in a hospital is followed by a certain grogginess. This feeling is some overwhelming that's hard to think or remember much of anything. It's not like this real matters, if you're in the condition I am, fortune cookie philosophy doesn't really concern you all that much. Nor does the endless line of visitors asking why. Or the therapist asking why. Everybody wants to know why, unless they think it has something to do with them.
These types I haven't seen here yet; because they don't exist.
It's odd, I wanted this attention so badly before, but now that I have it, and I realize that it's pathetically useless and unmeaningful.
I don't know how much blood I lost, or for that matter, how long I was unconscious. All that I really know for sure is that sometime last night my mom came into my room to tell me to turn the music down. She saw me lying there and got my dad to drive me to the hospital. Another thing I know is that your wrists, when cut by their owner's hand, tend to bleed a lot faster then I originally thought they would.
My moment of glory, my friends would be awed; if they didn't know the truth. And maybe that's why I'm telling this. My guilt. Or maybe, sometime between telling my parents I did it because I felt lonely, and my friends that I felt hated, something clicked.
I've done something that is fairly irreversible. Things will never be the same. The feeling of security most people get from having a normal life, I will never have again. Already my parents are talking about moving, or at the very least, forbidding me from seeing my friends. So, in reality, what do I have to lose by telling the truth for the first time in a long while.
Or maybe I realized what I’ve done is a cliché` teen act, and by denouncing it, along with myself, I'd be on a higher level then the rest.
Either way, here goes.

Thinking back, it all started with me on the outside of life. Everyday I'd sit in class and listen to the lives around me. I would nod my head in agreement to statements made by people without knowing I was listening. Sometimes, I would laugh at jokes that I wasn't supposed to hear.
Sometimes, those jokes would be about me.
The first 9 years of my academic career were spent in this fashion. It made me wonder if you were even real if you were the only one who noticed you. Maybe, I would think to myself, I'm just a figment of my own imagination.
More then likely I would have fully committed to the above belief had it not been for one person, Sammi. Sammi and I had known each other for most of our lives. We had been neighbors since we were 6, the year she moved into This Town.
She knew I was real, and that was enough to keep me content. When you wonder if your thoughts on life classify you as insane, you'll cling to every pillar of normality.
We were the Ying-Yang of our neighborhood. Everything one of us did, the other would. Because of this we shared a lot of 'firsts'. Kissing, or more importantly, learning what it was and how to do it right. This led to other 'firsts', but I'd rather not go into detail with you over that.
Neither of us were very attractive. Her body lacked all the voluptuous that classify a girl as pretty. And I, well being 45 pounds overweight and having never touched a weight set in my life; well lets just say I'd be more likely to be on Ripley’s believe it or not then oh say, one of the ripped men on Baywatch. Despite our looks, I managed to love her. Well, I’m not sure about that, I feel too young to know what love really is. If it wasn't love though, I can't wait to really feel it.
Love or not, Sammi and I rubbed off on each other. We shared a lot of the same tastes in music, food, literature, movies... you name it. Asking one of us our preference on a subject was as good as asking the other one.
What got me started on this crescendo that concluded last night, was an accident really.
Sammi had just gotten her license and was out driving. Neither of us were very good drivers so it was no surprise when she rear-ended Josh at an intersection. She said she wasn't paying attention, I believed her.
Anyways, She was scarred to death about what would happen. It didn't matter. Josh had recently purchased an awesome insurance policy, Sammi had none. He saw she was in tears and his heart softened. They drove to a local diner and talked. Little by little something blossomed between the two, and Josh said he'd just tell the insurance agent he back into a curb.
You have to understand that acts of kindness don't come often for people like Sammi and me. Ok, correction, they never come. This is why Sammi's eyes teared up; this is why she smiled through running mascara. This is why she looked into Josh's eyes and fell in love.
This is one of the reasons I’m here today.
Sammi and I weren't an official couple, people just assumed we were. However, we made one of those tragic promises that, in movies, always seems to get the main character's heart broken. We promised each other that if anyone better came along, we wouldn't hold each other back. We both accepted the fact we weren't pretty and if something better came, well, kudos. Of course when we made this promise neither of us thought much about it, inwardly we were laughing at the thought of anyone noticing us.
Skip ahead a week after Sammi rear-ended Josh., and I was sitting on my porch, listen to music. A nice car drove down the road I was watching, then braked abruptly at my somewhat hidden driveway. After a nifty backup maneuver, it pulled into my driveway.
This is when I officially met Josh.
Once the dust settled in my driveway, the door opened, freeing Sammi and Josh from it's clutches. I hadn't seen Sammi outside of school recently and a smile came to my face at the sight of her.
It wouldn't last.
She skipped over, smiling, and sat right next to me on the dusty porch.
"I want you to meet someone." She told me.
I knew of Josh before he knew of me. It's hard not to. He was captain of the football team and Senior King at this years Homecoming bonanza. Mr. Perfect, smiled at all the girls, play fought with all the jocks, ignored the freaks; everything one needs to do to be popular.
He walked over to us, shoulders level, hands in his pockets; he almost looked like he was posing for a clothes magazine.
"You must be Josh." I was trying not to laugh as he flexed his chest out of habit.
He smiled, "I've been waiting to meet you."

All three of us ended up talking on that porch for an hour. His smile was disarming and his laugh flowed as easily as milk. I warmed up to the guy. Maybe the other side of life didn't brainwash you?
What me like him most though, was how he looked at Sammi. It was a look of appreciation, admiration, and maybe a little lust. I thought I'd be the only one who looked at her like that, but there Josh was, his eyes a mirror of mine. Granted, this look ate away at my conscience like Coke a Cola does to steak, but I kept that to myself. Who ever would have thought jealousy would figure into this equation?
At the end of our hour, the left again, to go see a movie, and I went inside to follow the routine in life I follow. Watch TV, do some homework, eat dinner, finish homework, go to sleep.
I didn't know it at the time, but things were about to change. Routine, traditions, and anything else I held sacred would be discarded like condoms; without a second thought.
No, I was oblivious, all I wanted was sleep.

The next day was the 2nd step in the journey here. First, Second, Third, and fourth period all passed like before. At lunch however, things would change. It was right about the time I sat down at the table that Sammi and I usually occupy that I noticed something was wrong. The benches all around me were filled with vaguely familiar faces. The kind of vagueness bullies faces take on after years of torment and you trying to 'let it go'.
Stranger still, they didn’t' seem intent on touching me. A few of them nodded at me when I sat down, but other then that, they carried on with their conversations.
Tentatively, I started eating my lunch. Then I heard a familiar sound. Sammi's laughter exploded from behind me. I turned around, smiling expecting to see her laughing at me for sitting next to a sure beating.
Instead, she was sitting at a different table, Josh at one side of her, pretty girls I had never talked to all around her.
My facial muscles relaxed, and with the tension, my smile disappeared.
I turned back to my meal and ate some of it with a solemn face. For the first time in several years I didn't finish my lunch.
Instead I stared at it, feeling broken hearted. I started to wonder if I would disappear now that Sammi had stopped acknowledging me.
Maybe I was just her imaginary friend and now that she had outgrown me, I would up like the rest of her childhood.
Discarded.
I sat like that for several minutes, until someone tapping my shoulder got my attention.
"You gonna finish that?"
It was some guy on the football team, and he was gesturing towards an untouched piece of pizza.
I shook my head and he took it.
"Thanks man, my name's Kyle, you Sammi's friend?"
So that was what I was reduced to, Sammi's shadow.
Unable to talk, I nodded.
He grinned like a drunkard. "Yea Josh says you're a cool guy and all." After saying this he brought over a few more guys wearing football jerseys and introduced me to them.
Once again, I was real.
Step three.

The next month I got to know the entire football team. They took me in, and I was more then glad to forget their past actions. Why hold a grudge? They even convinced me to start working out with them. Kyle taught me the right way to lift weights, and soon I was on my way to the other side.
In the first month of working out and getting on a diet, I lost 15 pounds and for the first time, a girl other then Sammi said more then 'hi' to me.
Her name was Melissa and she told me that if I wasn't already going to the up coming dance with someone, she'd love to be my date.
My reply was a huge grin and a stammered 'yes'.
She gave me her number; another first.
However, this attention didn't it's ominous undertones, they were hard to miss.
Occasionally, when Kyle and the guys talked to me it was in a friendly way. Though most of the time the conversation revolved around Sammi and her past. I know now they just wanted to be able to relate to their friend Josh when he talked about her. Sadly, I mistook their interest in her as an interest in me. They weren't the only ones.
My date with Melissa had a theme; every word out of her mouth was in reference to Sammi.
Where she was from.
What she was into.
Typical gossip whore subjects.
I won't lie to you; I loved the attention. Who cares if they were using me to learn about the nonoutgoing girlfriend of Josh? I was using them to feel real. It seemed a fair trade off to me.
At the end of November I had dropped 30 pounds, had some definition in my arms, spent my afternoons in the weight room, and was dating Melissa full time. Oh yea, I forgot to mention one thing; Sammi and I hadn't spoken in two months. She was too engrossed with Josh, and I was too busy leaching off her popularity. Don't look down on me, At least I admit it.

Sadly, like every great song, novel, or movie, this bubble of attention wouldn't last.
It was February when Sammi came to my porch; an action that seemed so distant. She looked solemn, but she had important news, or so she said.
After taking her honorary seat next to me, she hugged her knees, and focused her eyes intently on the ground.
"I thought you should be the first to know, you know, because you were my best friend so long."
I couldn't help but notice the past tense of our friendship.
"Well, here goes. Josh and me, well, we're eloping."
I was in shock, though it made sense. She recently took her high school equivalency test and passed it; so had Josh. On top of that, I heard a rumor that she had gone to court to get emancipated; apparently so had Josh.
She would be 18 in three months, Josh in four and a half.
"We're leaving tonight, and I just wanted to say goodbye."
With that said, she stood up and walked back to her house, not so much as another look back came.
It's probably a good thing she didn't, she would have seen a pitiful slob whimpering and drying his eyes with his sleeve.
That was the last I saw of her.
Step four.

Things were different the next day at school. Kyle and his friends didn't say more then 'hi' to me, and Melissa ate lunch with her old friends.
By the end of the week Melissa had dumped me and the football team was ignoring me. I took my cue and disappeared.
It was during the next few weeks that I realized attention was the heroin to my addict. Without it, I felt unwhole. Without it, the thoughts came back.
Once more, I doubted my existence.
I resumed my old posts in the back of my classes, stopped working out, slacked on my diet, and stopped talking.

It was in May that the 5th step came.
It was in drama, my elective, that I saw her. I remembered her name from roll call as Debra. She had two people around her, talking to her excitedly. That, and making dramatic gestures to her arm.
Why did this surprise me? Debra was more or less like me, self committed to a solitary existence. But there she was, and people were noticing her.
Me being curious is a gross understatement.
Later on in the day, as class was dismissed and we hurried to the next class, I caught up with Debra.
Without even asking, I knew why she had drawn attention.
All up and down her forearm were scabbed remnants of a furious session with a piece of glass. Mysterious, and intriguing they were, while at the same time slightly horrifying.
I made idle talk with her, trying my best not to look down at her arm. We parted ways shortly after and I was left with a feeling that I was missing something.
Through out the rest of the period I watched as people gather around Debra, touching her arm, asking her rushed questions in an excited voice. A big one I overheard was 'Why?'
Suddenly Debra, the silent withdrawn one had become this mysterious entity that everyone wanted to know. What tied the ribbon on this horrific package was Melissa talking to Debra.
Right around then I realized the clue that been eluding me. And like the paper beneath the layer of cookie dough, the answer to my problem lay beneath my skin. That night I went home and started looking for something sharp. However, my search seemed in vain. In desperation I reached for a steak knife but succeeded in nothing more then scratching myself.
Hardly the dramatic scar maker.
Frustrated, I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I gazed into the dim mirror at the face of a figment. Already I missed Sammi, and there was nothing I could do about it; she left no address.
The face in the mirror was pathetic to me. Bloated cheeks, squinting eyes, unfashionable hair.
Self-hate doesn't even begin to describe my feelings.
I was prepared to end it then. I saw no future for this sad excuse of a child. All I saw was me. Opening the medicine cabinet I started looking for a bottle of aspirin. Rumor has it; if you take enough of these you fall asleep and never wake up.
Fine by me.
It was as I was pulling the economy-sized container out of the cabinet that something clattered at my feet. Looking down, I realized I had overlooked something in my search for an implement of self-mutilation. There, with the hand resting on my tow, was my razor.
Smiling, I put the bottle back in the cabinet and got one of the replacement heads for the razor. With pliers and sliced up finger tips I managed to take it apart and there, at my disposal, were three razors.
It's a sad realization that salvation comes from a blade no longer then an inch. Tentatively, I pressed it against my skin on my forearm. Quickly I pulled it towards me. Pain made my eyes water and a small stream of tears came down my lard filled cheeks. I will admit, I got carried away.
This cut was for Sammi.
This, for how she left me.
This, for how much I miss her.
This, because it's all my fault.
Each of the four cuts was about an 8th of an inch deep. The bled heavily, but I didn't notice. Instead, I had returned to the slob that Sammi didn't see. My arms were wrapped around my knees, snot and mucus bubbled at my nose, and drool trickled from my grotesque sobbing mouth.
I fell asleep like this, rocking myself in a sad sort of way.

Step 6; next morning. I woke up as the sunlight came into my room. My back ached from the awkward position I fell asleep in. Blood had stained the carpet and my pants.
Though, this was irrelevant, for on my arm were four cuts that were bigger, and more gruesome then Debra's. The hurricane of pain had stopped I thought.
Too bad I didn't see it was just the storm's eye.
School that day was normal, until I took off my sweatshirt. Underneath it I wore a t-shirt, and my wounds were on display for everyone to see.
Half an hour had passed by before a kid named Simon asked what happened to my arm.
I told him I attacked it.
He asked why.
On the spit I invented a sob story about being lonely and just wanting to feel something real. The story wasn't entirely false, and it sure beat Debra's 'it being a release because life is getting to hard' explanation.
Simon's expression went from one of puzzlement to a softer one. One could see that he was feel sorry for me, maybe even sympathetic.
Once again, I was alive.
Soon several people were concerned for me. People would talk with me at lunch, ask about my arm, and pretend to be my friend.
I loved every minute of it; Step 7.

Things were going fine until a Thursday afternoon in May. I was leaving drama with my new friends gathered around me when Debra caught up to me.
She told me we needed to talk.
I agreed and told my companions I'd meet up with them later.
Once we were alone, Debra's expression turned into the most scathing one I had seen. First, she told me she was onto me. She called me a leach, threatened to tell people I was full of shit.
I told her she was just angry because mine got more attention and that she was no better then me.
In response, she slapped my cuts, which hurt more then making them, and walked away.
The next day I noticed Debra Had deeper and bigger cuts then me. My friends started asking her if she was alright.
She told them that she hoped so.
It was on.
For the next two months, right up till yesterday we battled for attention and it's complimentary affection.
One of us would cut deeper, the other would reply with a newer, deeper chasm in their flesh. Eventually people stopped caring. They realized what we were doing and lost interest all together.
That didn't stop Debra or me, just drove us hard to rekindle their interest. And it didn't stop at cutting.
Fairly soon I was burning myself with cigarettes.
In response, Debra carved words into herself.
So I started branding myself on my wrist, an area that neither of us had explored. You should have heard the skin pop and fizzle under the ember's heat. In response Debra did something that was quite unpredictable. She took the razor to her arms, breasts, legs, shoulder blades, and anywhere else she could reach.
I heard this from several girls who saw her in the shower. They told me how a lot of them cracked under her scrubbing, and the shower floor was covered in red.
At least it seemed a victor had arisen from this macabre competition. Not that it really mattered now, my senior year had two more weeks and then I would be gone. Living a new life.
Or so I hoped.
Once again I was alone. Though this time the answer came fairly quickly. In my English class there was this new guy named Jake. He was nice enough and sat in front of me.
One day, he raised his hand and I saw the answer. Running down his wrist was a pale scar that stretched from the palm of his hand to five inches below his elbow.
I wasn't the only one who saw this, a girl next to me gasped, and apparently she told several of her friends.
By the end of the day, everyone, even Debra's prize friends were asking him if he was doing better.
If my life was a movie, this is where inspiring music would fade in. I knew what I had to do.
The eight step; kill myself.
No, I didn't intend to die. This would be classified as a 'cry for help' type thing. I got home and looked up the warning signs for suicidal people. Sadly enough, I already fit the description of most of them. But there was one I needed to do.
The website I was looking at told me that people who were on the verge of suicide were often happy. Sometimes they put their affairs in order and gave possessions away. Apparently the fact that they now had a way out of their problems was joyous.
The mask was made.
Yesterday, I strapped on my most happy smile. It was dusty, having not been used since Sammi met Josh. But with a little practice in front of the mirror, it fit fine.
I wore it to school and started saying goodbye to people: Kyle, the football team, Simon. What really cinched it though was when I walked up to Debra, told her goodbye, and gave her a hug.
You needed to have been there, it was so climatic.
I drove home and drafted my note, and you know what happened next from what I've already told you.

So that was the truth. You asked why, and I told you. But you know the worst part of it all?
One of my visitors, Jamie, heard the truth and smiled.
She told me something pathetic, Jake had broke his arm when he was 8, the scar was from the surgery to knit it back together. The real reason people stuck around him was because he was fun to talk to...Fuck.
But I guess that's the whole point of this. Reality is what you make it, life is what you make, and I brought this on myself. That's why there is nobody to blame.
The final step; getting on with my life.