Mia's Misery

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I have a best friend. Her name is Mia. I am free with Mia; she wouldn’t do anything to harm me. Mia solves everything. She will grab you by the hand and lead you up the stairs into your bathroom. She will lock the door and turn on running water. Mia will sit next to you and hold your hair back when you lean over the toilet. Mia is there for you when your fingernails accidently scratch the back of your throat a little bit too hard. When your eyes bulge out like a bullfrog and tears run down your face, Mia will pat you on the back and whisper in your ear that she is your friend and that this is all worth it. Mia will get you mouthwash, gum and a towel when you leave the bathroom. Mia will do these things for you; she does them for me. Mia understands that I can’t stop. Mia is there for me every day. Except for today. Today, Mia didn’t call 911 when I collapsed to the floor. Mia wasn’t there in the ambulance, or in the hospital. Mia wasn’t there when my parents were leaning over me sobbing. Mia wasn’t there when the doctors said they were too late. Mia wasn’t there when I died today. Mia left me with nothing. How could she do this to me? I thought she was my friend. I gave up so much for her. I always left the dinner table early for her; skipping out on precious family time with my brothers, my mother, and father. They loved me so much, and I was too busy with Mia. How could you do this to me, Mia? How?





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