I should have known I should have known you were hurting but I was blinded by my pride I should have figured something was wrong by the way you held your eyes. I lived in fear and confusion, but this is no excuse. I should have known how much it hurt you, the pain of this verbal abuse. I was so involved in myself and my seemingly “unbearable” feelings. To recognize your obvious grief. When you would flip, I'd say it because you were dramatic. Your brothers and I would laugh about it. We were blinded because of our sarcasm. You hid your fear and depression, with your ecstatic enthusiasm. I should have known it was all a lie. But every time I would just walk on by. I felt you hated me for so long. I never knew it was because of your desperate time. I should have learned to read the room and to use my words with wisdom. You were always smiling, but now I know it was all a mask. Then all your feelings tried to come down, in a crash. That night you tried to end it. I swear I would have been the one. If I had only known about it. But instead, it was the friend, the one who cared enough to know. With a phone call, he ended your decision. When the police came to the door You hid it from everyone, your mother doesn't even know. I found out about 9 months later when I swallowed my pride. We are great now, the hole in our relationship sewn. I just wanted to tell you how much I wish I had known.

With the fading of the music~ and the return of calm, is an opportune moment to touch base with your heart parallel to your thoughts a systemic disagreement the dismemberment of your enthusiasm. With a discord in your humanity, and the loss of grit an emptied conscientious the very loss of meaning with no one is close enough to rescue you from the snares before you as you brace for a pitfall into the galaxy the numbness of your physical being a flashlight into the everlasting as you become aware of a higher power taking over. Your ability to control is disabled as the pills the knives and loneliness become your closest companions demanding your love and affection an immense unity you won't return from the awakening of your loved ones unaware of your struggles a little too late for a remedy the beginning of the end a life cut so short...

The intensity of the war in Manzi was better experienced than explained. We knew what we signed up for when we enlisted in the Elite Rebel Forces, we had to fight for our country and free it from tyrants who had taken over the reins of government. The Black Movement weren't just random people or some motley crew with guns – they were regimented, sponsored and systematic in their fighting approach. We had lost a lot of our men in the crucible of combat but giving up was never an option, we vowed to die fighting than to surrender to the marauding army of the Black Movement. We fought for our children, those still alive and those that were yet unborn. We fought for our women, some who had been kidnapped, others raped and for those who had been killed. We fought for our farmlands, the farmlands our own fathers left for us which were the only source of livelihood we knew. Our communities were decimated and degraded, what remained was a shadow of a once prosperous land laid waste by terror – a fitting parallel to the ruins of the ancient city, Rome. There was a Manzi. We were outnumbered in the fight and putting up any kind of opposition looked more and more like a suicide mission but we had come too far to walk back. Some days were particularly deadly, we brought back more men in body bags than other days. The Black Movement were known for striking at odd hours, when we seemed to have let down our guard. So we hardly slept at night because of these devils. The war took a sinister turn when most of our top Elite commanders started dying in a mysterious but familiar manner. After any famous blow dealt by a commander to the Black Movement, they would regroup and infiltrate a well-fortified camp led by that particular commander who would later be reported to have been killed under strange circumstances. Many of our men had run away because they didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel. Others had committed suicide because they just couldn't cope with the trauma and torture of losing their loved ones who were slain in the most gruesome manner. Even those of us who fought on were becoming weary, it seemed the more we looked at the rope, the more it looked like a snake. All hell broke loose when a junior Elite came to us in the dead of the night. We had started shooting at him instinctively and almost killed him thinking he was an emissary of the Black Movement. What gave us second thoughts was when he lay flat on the floor in a way only an Elite would – it was then we held back our gunfire. Behold, it was Wakabi, son of Juto. He share the gut-wrenching account of how he found his father's body riddled with bullets. Just before his father passed, he confided in Juto that he was killed because he uncovered that most of the commanders of the Elite Rebel Forces had been compromised. In fact, they gave out the classified details of our missions to these infidels who successfully ambushed us with ease. He alleged that they did this in exchange for protection and also a part of the ransom payments that came in from kidnapping. I looked at Wakabi straight in the eyes and told him never to insult our collective intelligence by lying against our commanders. I checked his body for communication devices and rigged bombs in case he was being tele-guided by the Black Movement who usually deploy this tactic as condition for releasing a family member in captivity. He swore on his late father's honour that he wasn't doing this under duress neither is he trying to stoke the embers of discord amongst the ranks. Wakabi was a man with many faults but lying wasn't one of them. Our camp was thrown into chaos; many fighters believed Wakabi while others claimed he was on the payroll of unpatriotic elements. Wakabi had run for dear life because he also alleged that the Black Movement had rogue fighters within us working for them and it was hard to tell who was on our side and who wasn't. I almost slumped. All I could think of was how I had become a pawn in a very dishonest chess game. I couldn't join those who headed to the central command to challenge the top Elites with the veracity of these claims. I became suicidal and at some point, almost pulled the trigger on myself. Providence had other plans for me. My bosom friend, whom we called the “Sniper” intervened just at the right time and smuggled me out of the camp and checked me into a medical facility on the outskirt of town. The doctor diagnosed me of acute PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He told me that suicide didn't solve anything, rather it left my loved ones in more severe pain that I could imagine. He was blunt enough to call it selfishness because I was only thinking about myself and not how my death would hurt my family who were praying day and night for my safe return. I was told to find a reason to live; that reason was my family – I vowed to live for them!

I look myself in the mirror, I can discern the decay of my face. There is no smile anymore. The stasis of my lips offers satisfactorily lust in my thoughts that torment my mind with Medieval methods. I touch my idol in the mirror and I hurt. I try to close his eyes, but I cannot. They stay open and still and they look morbidly. Chainsaws echo from the overlooked cemetery, tear into pieces mercilessly the marble crosses. What have I done to myself so he looks at me like this? Why my sharpened teeth do not appear on the glass surface with sole purpose to bite her? Sorrow hallowing my forehead with sorrow. Indestructible thorns jab more deeper in the flesh of my skull. Bloody tears sparkling in my hands' palms. If I scream I will die. If I die I will have to kill. If I kill I am obliged to leave. If I leave, I will return. God, why, the sorrows of people transmute into ebony coffins that are buried within my heart? If only I could soothe my consciousness for seven days… I feel something to choke me. My throat is asphyxiating while my glass idol laughs horrendously. I can't stand the howling. No, yell at me no more. Reigns powerful silence, and then spasms commence recalling me in my starting position, before abyssal darkness arrogates my senses. Maybe fate leads me in a deathly destiny, which in case it happens, will become the salvation which is the highest virtue for a tormented soul like mine. No, I don't murmur. The existing circumstances of life have tired me insurmountably, because as I try to open a way out to the future, it ricochets me to the past. Death is the physical continuation of life, and I will be delighted if it happens to the days of my youth, for the simplest reason, that I cannot avoid him. To speak the truth, I don't want to avoid him. I want desperately to remain alive and to feel whatever joy I can, but they don't let me. In which attempt I give or trying to be present, they find ways to chain me and isolate me. The only thing that will never succeed in accomplishing is to handcuff my mind. A free spirit clearly suffering, but in no way it can be imprisoned. A free spirit prefers death so not to lose innocence, insight, respect and prestige. I have thought many times while I stroll in the city, how life would continue if I committed suicide… For sure there will be consequences and repercussions to people who they love me , however they would continue to exist without me, and with the flow of time the rift of pain would heal in desired spots. The verb “die” does not fit here, so, reasonably I use the verb “suicide”. Suicide is not an act of cowardice as some falsely believe. Because nobody knows how much pain a single human has within his soul. Nobody knows the spiritual boundaries and the stamina in a daily routine that open wounds that cannot be healed. How many people we see daily that smile whilst inside them are literally devastated… How many people we see daily that seek a kind word, a velvet touch, an understanding breath, and the only thing that get is disdain… How many people daily we place of the beam of desperation without remorse…Here is a key word which provokes pathogenic causes with fatal results. Suicide as a meaning and as an act certainly is the ultimate hybris against God, though requires determination and courage to turn yourself against yourself and violently remove the coveted life in that way. How many of you have done this macabre thought at least once… In this theater of paradox we daily live, the incarnation of life to life seems like an unreachable dream. Loneliness, disappointment, sorrow, wrong choices, guilt, remorse, unemployment, compulsion, hatred, unfairy tax policies, lies, eradication, violation of human rights, greed, selfishness, stab democracy that all people worship. The rule of law which could be, turns into a cradle of powerful coldness where everything collapse upon the enormous steel walls of human separation. Undead people wander everywhere aimlessly. They stamp upon dead bodies, seeking comprehensible sunrays of justice and transparent water to wash away their sins. How would it seem to the violators of this planet, who have elevated the obedient lobotomy to a profitable enterprise, a universal peace, which it would dismiss forever the wars for interest and people would live happily? A universal peace will destroy forever the human funnel grinders of annihilation. Only by thinking of it, my heart shivers from hope and expectation. A universal peace would give meaning in words and prestige in actions of future generations in a planet which agonizes… The only thing that is needed is an incision of kindness into the hearts of men… An incision that will bring back long-forgotten feelings, good deeds, smiles, hope… Hope for a palatable future life. We need love to live, not pain. Tears drop from my eyes as my words breath on the paper. What I wish for, what I want is, my words breathe inside your psychic dreams…

When I picked up the book 13 reasons why at a book store many years ago I had no clue it would change my life. I didn't know that I was fixing to read my story written by a stranger. A noticeable difference is that I am 31 and still alive. I lived Hannah's life but I made it. When I was 15 years old a friend called me one Friday night. She was intoxicated at a party with all males. She wasn't comfortable and asked if I could walk across the street to where the party was and stay with her. I thought nothing of it and told my parents I was sleeping over with the neighbor (just not the neighbor they thought). I cared for my friend and got her to bed with no issues. I locked her in the room and made sure none of the males present went near the room. We had all been friends for years with the exception of an older guy there. He was very attractive, rich and popular. As the early morning hours approached the friends all started to pass out. I was given my own room and soon found myself fast asleep. I woke up to the guy I didn't know asking if he could crash in there with me because the rest of the beds were taken. I remember hearing the door lock and even telling him that was a fire safety issue. I wasn't nervous because I was in a house full of people I had known for several years. I must have fallen back to sleep quickly but that wouldn't last. I was awoken to him on top of me, forcing himself inside me. I was a virgin and scared truly to make a noise. I think I may have whimpered but that only made it worse. I don't know how long it lasted. I remember he left the room and didn't come back in. I was scared to leave the room. When morning came I practically ran home. I can remember my friends calling me the next 2 days asking what had happened because the male was saying things about me that were not nice. I realized later that he immediately started saying things about my character so people would believe him when he said he never touched me. I had no intentions of telling anyone but made sure no one would believe me if I did. Something I didn't realize was that he was already 18 which made what he did statutory rape. I can remember that first day back at school how all my friends shunned me. People I had known since elementary school treated me like I did something wrong. I never told my parents. I quit cheerleading and the school newspaper. I didn't talk about it with my childhood best friends. They knew something was wrong but I shut down anytime I was asked. Things moved on and I finished the year barely passing after having been an straight a student. I thought for sure the next year would be better as junior but I was shocked the first day of school to find that my attacker had been held from graduation and would be back at the school for another year. Not only was he back at school but would be in some of my classes. I told myself that I could handle this by just pretending he didn't exist but he seemed that he needed to make my life hard. He would say things under his breath when I talked, he would loudly make comments about my reputation and would try to turn my few peers in the class against me. After a few weeks of this abuse I started taking sleeping medicine to get past the nightmares. One day he seemed particularly nasty towards me and called me to his table during lunch. He had some of his female friends call me some names and tell me how he would never have touched me. I took enough sleeping pills that night to never face him again. People wondered how I got the pills. I asked an older neighbor friend to get them for me. That moment of survival changed my life. I still didn't speak out of the attacker mostly out of fear. I felt like I was having a heart attack when I saw in the local paper that he been arrested with trying to pick up a 14 year old girl in a sting when he was 30. My first thought was he may have hurt other girls. I was so scared to tell and that may have left him able to harm others. I have dealt with the ptsd of the attack for years. Sometimes are better than others. Everyday I am glad that I didn't die when I wanted to so bad. I I am so happy that I got to meet a great man who understands my cold days. I am so thankful I got to be a mommy. When I hear people say that Hannah Baker from 13 reasons wanted attention I want to scream that she is real. She is me. I never asked for his bullying. I never asked for the whispers. I never wanted the sympathy. I just wanted to make the choice of my first time being with someone I loved not a stranger who prayed on virgins.