They say just hang in there, they say it’ll all work out. But the only thing working itself out is this gun inside my mouth. Sitting there holding it the little voice returns “just do it, do us all the favor. No one likes you, it was all pretend” pretend. The game I played all my life. Pretending I didn’t want to take my own life. Pretending like I’m happy. They didn’t realize they paid for a show but every time I step out that door they see a little more. They see the smile but they don’t see the pain. They hear the laughter but aren’t there when the laughing turns into screams. Screams for some help, screaming for someone to notice. Someone to notice all the pain. Someone to notice all my hatred. Not hatred for the world, no, the hatred of myself. The wishing I was the someone I always pretended to be. Wishing things were different. Wishing I could be better. Wishing she wouldn’t hurt them. Wishing she couldn’t hurt me. She planted all my hatred. My tears made the seeds grow. No one will know all the pain she caused, my skin and my memories are covered with the scars that grew each time she opened her mouth. Opened her mouth with another lie. How could she do it? How could my flesh and blood betray me? Was she jealous? Or just that spiteful? Because if this much hatred and pain grew inside of me since the day she planted those seeds, how much hatred must consume her. No wonder she can’t keep a husband, she doesn’t love anyone but herself. No wonder her kids are wise beyond their years. They had to raise themselves because she didn’t know how to love anyone but herself. Who can watch their mother cry and do nothing but laugh? Who can make such horrible claims just to see how much pain they will cause? With this gun inside my mouth, I look up and see her. It was never me who held it. It isn’t me who’s pulling the trigger. God, please be with her and pull her out of her anger. Pull her out of her hatred. Maybe with me gone she’ll be a better daughter. A better daughter to our mother, a better daughter to our father. Maybe with me gone, she won’t have as much anger and she’ll be able to give her children the life they deserve, the mother they deserve. Maybe she’ll be able to be the person our family…this world needed her to be. Maybe she just needed a world without me.