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"That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful."

-Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

Chapter One

__________

20 February 15 Avenue Street

Dear Listener,

I guess you're used to getting letters from messed up teenagers, since I got your address from my psychiatrist. He said that I should write you letters, to tell you about my life. He said I can write whatever I want, and that you're not going to show him the letters, unless you think I am in "Danger of hurting myself or others". I'm sending you these letters without a return address. It's nothing personal. I just feel safer if you can't answer, like you won't judge. Not that I am assuming that you are the judging type. Anyways, I think you deserve to know how I got to writing you these letters, so let me take you back to about a month ago:

That morning, even though my bus doesn't come until 8:20 I got out of bed at 7:00 because I got tired of lying in bed. I woke up a few hours before that, and was listening to the music on my Walkman. I'm not making some hipster statement here by using old technology, I just found my dad's old one, and he has some good mix tapes, so I just took it from his old box marked as 'Music things'.

When I got on the school bus I sat in the nearest empty seat. I took out my Walkman and listened to a mix tape called 'Snowy Night', that my dad made my mom in their last year in college. I then looked out of the window and everything seemed to be the same, as usual .

After we got to the School, I jumped out of the bus and walked to the concrete building. I made my way through the hall over to the lockers. As I was passing I got strange looks from fellow students. When I got to my locker I saw big, bold, red letters right above my locker:

Special Services call Audrey-Low prices and sometimes free.

A few students were raising their eyebrows at me, as waiting for my reaction. But I had to be strong. So I bit my lip and turned around into the girls bathroom and faced the mirrors and the faucets. My hands gripped the edges of the sink, and I let my eyes tear a bit.

"I didn't know you were that thirsty for attention." Said the devil.

The devil, was actually, Jessica. I turned around to face her. Her blond bleached hair in a tight ponytail, her small figure highlighted by her light jeans and a tight, cropped shirt. Showing off her toned stomach.

I know Jessica since I was 10. Back then, we were best friends. In middle school, Jessica got bullied a lot for her chubbiness, and it made her very insecure, yet she still helped me when my parents were on edge of a divorce. But when we got to the summer of eighth grade, Jessica went away, and when she came back for freshmen year, she was completely different. Her untamed red hair, gone for straight blond, she lost about 20 pounds, her braces were long gone and now she has two straight white rows of teeth. Jessica got taller, her breasts fuller, 10 layers of makeup hiding her friendly freckles. But the worst of all changes was her personality. She became cold, mean and full of fake self confidence that just passed the line to plain arrogance. Her big grin replaced by an evil smirk. Loud laugh and snores, into a flirty giggle.

"Why would you do something like that?" I whispered to her. I started getting bullied by Jessica in the end of freshmen year, when she became popular. The jokes she and her little group pulled on me were usually small. Like making me trip and spilling food on myself, or saying little mean things. This was bigger then usual. "I didn't do anything, but let me tell you that spray painting your name on the school and acting like a whore won't make boys like you or even notice you." She said with her evil laugh. I turned my back to her and walked out of the door into the school hall.

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