“This was all your fault.” I glared at her. Before she could say anything, I continued, “This was your fault. All of it. Aren’t you happy? You called me a fat a** all this time, you never cared for me, are you happy now, mother?” I stared at her.

“What are you—”

“Don’t lie mother.” I chuckled, “You’ve always hated me. You never talked to me, complaining about your arm and how much it hurts, not noticing your daughter skipping meals. You never noticed me. When I asked you something, you would use your arm as an excuse.”

“Nicole, this isn’t fun—”

“Aren’t I right, mother? No matter what I asked—”

“Nicole, we love you.” My aunt said, her cheeks stained in tears.

“Please, just eat.” Sniffed one of my “friends”

Blood started to boil. “Cared? Love? Don’t joke with me.”

“Nicole, I’m serious.” Mother sniffed, “Please, don’t talk anymore.”

I started screaming all over again, “WHY?! I HATE YOU! WHY?! STOP ACTING AS IF YOU CARED FOR ME!” I yelled, ripping out my hair in bunches.

“NICOLE!” my aunt yelled, pressing for the nurse over and over again.

“IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU, I WOULDN’T BE LIKE THIS!” I screamed at her, “FAT A**, FAT A**, IT’S ALL OF YOUR FAULT THAT I’M DYING.” I yelled, “AND YOU!” I pointed at my “friend”, “IT’S YOUR FAULT I WENT THIS ROAD. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

All of a sudden, I heard, “CODE RED!”

Nurses came in, trying to make me stay on the bed. I screamed, yelled, did anything for them to let go of me.

This was their fault.

If it wasn’t for them, then I wouldn’t be this way.

If they would’ve constantly told me that they loved me, that they would be there for me, that they
just cared for me in the least bit, I wouldn’t have gone crazy.

But they didn’t.

Life flashed before my eyes.
It was going to be over. It’s finally going to be all over.

Congratulations mother, now you don’t have to deal with my cries.
You no longer have to deal with my cries, my woes, me pleading for your help.
Because now?
You lost your own daughter.
I hope you’re happy.

And to all the people that shamelessly called me your friend.
I hated you.
When I needed someone to talk to the most, who was there for me?
Not a single person.
I was always the last choice.
It’s all your fault.

I stared at my body. Visible bones clothed in a thin layer of skin. Pathetic, isn’t it?
But that’s the point. I couldn’t take it anymore. The name calling, the being fat, being the person who I hated so much. Why God? Why? Why did I have to be in such an ugly body? Why? I hated this life. I hated it so much.

Just one person, only one person. I needed just one person to have heard my cries.

But no one heard them.

That lifeless body that I was staring at, I laughed.

I’m dead. Are you happy now?
As I leave you with those last bitter words, are you happy?