Saving Grace

My Name is...

09/01

23:11

My name is a secret. But for the sake of giving you some sort of insight as to who I am, you can call me Grace. It's my middle name. I won't reveal my identity because I don't know who might read this and I'm not concerned about being murdered. To all the murderers out there, please feel free. No. I'm worried that if you know who I really am, then you'll get mad. Because this blog is going to be my life. And let me tell you, it's an exciting one.

I guess I should say why I've started this blog. And honestly, it's kind of like a diary. Except public. And through it, I'm going to expose some people for who they truly are. I won't use their real names for privacy's sake, but I'm sure you all can figure it out. But I'll be honest. This blog is more than just a gossip column. This blog is going to document my life. And, if I decide to kill myself, then this will serve as an explanation as to why.

I'm not good at keeping a journal, but hopefully I'll be able to maintain this blog. I guess that we'll just have to see.

Well, I'm sure you all are curious as to why I want to kill myself. But frankly, it's complicated. Very complicated. And I don't feel like spending all night talking about it. Just know that I'm a fuck-up. Hence the name of this blog. But don't worry. I'm giving myself six months. Six months to decide if I really want to kill myself. I mean, it's a big decision. One that there's no coming back from.

It's getting late now so I'm going to sign off. Thanks for reading this post. I'll keep you updated on my life. If you're interested, anyway.

09/02

02:22

I can't really sleep and I think it's because I'm nervous for school. It's going to be my first day back. I missed the first week of school which blows because now I'm going to be thrown into the middle of the assignments. I hope my teachers give me an extension on things. Especially once word gets out that I spent half the summer in the mental hospital.

That's right. I'm a nutcase. A freak. I spent nearly half of my summer inside a hospital. Go ahead. Judge me. A few of you already commented that I'm selfish for wanting to kill myself. But my suicide is my own business. So fuck off.

But yeah. Back to me being nervous. See. I had this big mental breakdown last May and basically lost all of my friends. None of them tried to contact me all summer except for one. So I'm going to start school off with no friends. No people to spend the mornings with. Nothing.

I don't know how it'll work. Will I have to find a new table? Will I sit with the band nerds? Will I just wander the halls with no one to talk to? I don't know and I'm not sure I want to find out...

I guess that I should actually try to get some sleep. I don't want to restart my coffee addiction. (Last year I used to drink like five cups a day). Well, anyways, I'm signing off for real now. Goodnight. Or morning. Or whatever.

09/02

22:10

Today didn't suck nearly as much as I thought it would. Which is good. But it didn't go horribly well either.

I went to sit in my normal spot this morning like I used to and for a while I just sat there and read my book. That is until one of my ex-friends showed up and called me a psycho bitch. I almost punched him. Almost. Instead, I flipped him off and left. He wasn't worth my time.

But since I was kicked out of my old spot, I had nowhere else to go. So I went to my locker and then down the math hall. And that's when I saw it; the light in my old teacher's room.

I don't know why I decided to enter his room. But I did. I stood outside the door for a solid minute before I finally turned the knob and entered. My teacher who, for the sake of his privacy, we'll call Mr. Wesley, looked up at me in surprise.

I lied and told him I just wanted someplace quiet to sit since it was loud out in the commons and he smiled slightly and let me sit in his room. I was thankful and I quickly took a seat in the desk closest to the door, pulled out my book, and read.

We were quiet for a bit while he worked on his stuff and I read. Then he broke the silence by asking me for my story. I didn't know what to say.

"Well," I said, "the story I'm reading is about a girl who is dealing with the loss of her sister."

"No, no," he'd said. "I want to know about your story. Tell me about Grace."

I frowned. I didn't know how to tell him that my story wasn't a good one. That I had tried to kill myself over the summer, that I'm struggling with piecing my life back together, that I'm a major fuck-up. So instead I shrugged and said, "I don't know my story, Mr. Wesley. I haven't written it yet."

That made him smile and he shook his head at me. We talked then. Not a lot. But he asked me how my summer was and I lied and told him it was good. I told him that I'd gotten a job and that things were better than my freshman year. He smiled wider at that.

I asked him how his summer was and he said it was too short. He told me that his niece turned seven and that she was growing up to be extremely smart. He was beaming with pride when he said that and I felt jealous. No one had ever seemed as proud of me as he was of his niece. And I guess it's because, like my blog says, I'm a professional fuck-up.

Well, after we talked for a bit, the bell rang and I scooped up my stuff and headed to class. Thankfully, the classes were all easy and none of them had assigned seats so I was able to sit wherever. In my first class, I sat next to this girl I sort of knew. And in my second class, I had a few more "friends." You know the type. The kind that you talk to and would miss if they got hit by a bus, but not the kind you would ever hit up to bail you out of jail. Come to think of it, I don't think I have a single friend who would bail me out of jail.

After the class with the couple of friends was my math class. I wish Mr. Wesley was my teacher. But instead it was a new woman. She's nice enough. In that class, I sat next to a kid I kind of knew from middle school. We kind of talked and cracked a few jokes. But he was too busy on his phone so I gave up trying to talk to him.

The real battle of the day was lunch. I didn't have anyone, so I went down with the band nerds and I hung out with a friend who, while not willing to bail me out of jail, is the kind of person I could take to a concert. The chill type. The type you like.

Well, after that it was time for my favorite class; English. I sat with a kid I kind of knew. He seems really cool and I hope that we can become friends. I follow him on his sort of blog. That is to say, I follow him on his tumblr. But other than that, we've never really interacted. He's really nice and we have a lot of stuff in common. He seems the type of person I could maybe ask to bail me out of jail.

Ugh. It's getting late again and I have homework that I should do. So I'm going to sign off now.

09/03

09:00

I know what you're thinking. Why am I not in school? The answer? I have first hour off. Which is, arguably, one of the worst hours possible to have off. But it allows me time to do the homework I didn't do last night and, more importantly, write.

I want to kill myself. But not in the sense that I'm going to actually attempt it. No. In the sense that I just don't want to exist anymore. It's a weird feeling, not wanting to live. It's like your body wants you to stay alive, but your mind wants you dead. Unless you've felt it before, you wouldn't understand.

I guess I should go try to do homework. I'll probably write more tonight.