Three things happened to me in 2010, my brother was murdered, Tristan had broken my heart and I wanted to die. I had broken into three nameless fragmented pieces. Broken and hurt they all shared a pain inside me rattling like a defensive snake waiting to attack. Some parts were louder then others. Some sharper edges, others full with unspoken words dangling above the surface. In fear I held in these three strangers living in my head. I tried to bottle them up and hide them at the pit of my soul. My life had begun to chip away.

My characters unraveled. The first girl was full of rage she had looked just like me but more edgy and took more risks. She was angry and destructive and most of all she was incredibly impulsive. She came out when words weren’t enough, when actions needed to be taken. She got into fights with my bullies. She shoplifted cosmetics at pricey stores, filling me up with adrenaline and power. This angry girl snuck out every night and promised boys kisses. She broke wine glasses and screamed at her mother.

My second stranger was the opposite. She walked around halls silently with her head down. She wore dried tears on her cheeks. Her lips were dry and she had dark circles around her eyes. She isolated herself and wrote poems about pain, she missed my brother and carried guilt with her. This girl wore her Sad Face. She cried in the shower and at night she would leave jagged little red trickles of dried blood on her thighs where no one had seen.
Then there was the nothing girl. She did nothing that year, She said nothing, did nothing, full of nothing. She ate nothing. She felt nothing and she never cried. She was numb, emotionless.

A big white capsule full of blue and red pills stared me in the face,as if this were Alice in Wonderland with the words in bold letters that said, “Eat me” Id be game. I lay on the cold moist egg white marble floor thinking about everything. Reliving memories and rewinding what had been said, how it happened and what I could have done. When I thought about role playing in my head, I tried to imagine different situations that are possible. My mind began to wander about Tristan, feeling so close, his body, tasting his mouth. I felt that aching emptiness again and I wanted to feel whole again. The pills were above my head on the bathroom vanity still playfully taunting me.
I thought about my brother. How his hair was always soft and his favorite yellow jacket; I remember how small his hands were. I remember the smell of him, he still had a baby smell to him, I could hear his laugh when he played with his toys and sometimes I believed that I saw him crawling into another room. He’s gone, and I’m alone, facing this alone. Suicide seemed like a theatrical moment almost unrealistic. If however I decided to swallow twenty or so pills would it be for the right reasons? I began to ask myself should I?
The old me at twelve appeared wearing converse and a red hoodie.” Dia please don’t do this. Remember you wanted to be a writer? You have so much to live for. You can get through this.”
“Bullshit”, the angry girl suddenly spoke. The angry girl’s body was leaning against the mirror, and her left leg swinging.

“It’s the only way out”. The sad face girl appeared looking identical to me, except she wore dark and baggy clothes. She was sitting on the edge of the tub with her head bowed and her hair covering her face.

“Is this because of Tristan?” The old me jumped off her chair as she said this.

“No it’s bigger then this. She is doing this because she is mad at her mother”. The angry girl began to flail her arms and raised her voice as she said this.






“She wants to kill herself because of this heavy guilt that she carries with her”. The sad face girl gets up and begins to cry as she tearfully explains. “Dia it wasn’t your fault. He was abusive to you. You need to stop blaming yourself for your brother’s death. You couldn’t have stopped him from killing your brother, he was too strong.” The old me was getting into the angry girl’s face.

“She doesn’t want to let it take over. I feel so empty, it’s eating us up.” The sad faced girl began to wail again returning to the corner of the tub.
“Dia needs to speak up. She can’t hide the past its going to tear her apart. Dia please don’t hold in the pain. You can let go. The old me began to grab my arms shaking it.
“Dia I feel so trapped. Make the pain go away” the sad faced girl came up to me on her knees crying uncontrollably.

“Do it. Piss your dad off even more. Punish your mom for not protecting you” the angry girl yelled at me and pushed aside everyone else.
“Stop,” I heard myself say.
“No Dia. Don’t listen to her. You’re stronger than this”, the old me said.

“Shut the hell up! I care about what’s good for her too”, the angry girl yelled.

“All you do is screw thing up for her”. The old me yelled back.


“I’m just releasing some steam “the angry girl got off the sink.
“He never loved me”. The sad face girl spoke in a low voice.
“He abandoned us; Tristan never cared when Dia needed him the most” the angry girl faced the sad faced girl who was quietly weeping.
“Suicide is not the answer she obviously needs us to cope”, the old me got in front of me.
“Nobody listens to me”. The sad face girl continued to cry.
“You don’t think I’m doing my best here? I’m trying to help her cope,” angry girl clenches her fists at old me.
The nothing girl sat on the floor doing nothing.
“We’re having debates about what Dia should do for us,” angry girl turned to the nothing girl. suggestively she nudged her.
“……. “The nothing girl was quiet.
“Dia you’re unhappy. You’re depressed,” the old me said.
As they all began to bicker all at once I couldn’t hear myself. Then the nothing girl got up. Everyone stood still and starred at her waiting to hear what she had to say.
“You can’t kill what’s already dead”. The nothing girl face turned and looked at me.
I looked in the lighted mirror and I stared at myself, my reflection clear. My skin was pale and dull, with blue hues. My eyes darkened, my face dirty. My hair was oily; I should have taken a shower. My lips were swollen and dry with scabs. I couldn’t recognize myself. I didn’t look the same. I looked like I was already dead.