I don't want to wake up today. Really, I don't want to leave my bed for anything, even though I know I have to. School won't accept my excuse for avoiding it, because the only one I have is "too sad to function" and that's not valid to anyone but me. They stopped giving a shit when I entered high school. Avoiding school because of bullying problems as a kid is one thing, but as soon as you're older you're supposed to get over it. I'm a big girl now; I have to get over it. No one will accept depression as an excuse to miss work. I'll have to face the real world soon, and the real world doesn't care if I think I'm sad. I'll have to get over it.

That's what my counsellor and parents tell me all the time anyways. That's what everyone has told me, even if it was none of their business in the first place. Every time I've gone to talk to anyone about it, it's always been the same. People keep telling me that happiness is a choice, and that if I don't choose now I'll never be happy. Then they load me up on medication to help my brain function like a normal person's, which doesn't always work. My brain is stubborn, and the voices are loud.

I'm not crazy or anything, that I'm sure of. The "voices" are me; hundreds of me's that try to pull me in all directions. Some towards getting through the day, others hell-bent on ending it forever. They tell me to get up, to get moving, to be normal, to be happy; anything and everything I feel I can't do myself I have to constantly remind myself to do.

Get up Sara. Come on, get up.

Waking up has proven itself to be both the easiest and the hardest part of my day. Easiest because I don't have to deal with anyone but myself and sometimes my cat Lou. Hardest because I have to make an effort to wake up, get up and do something, and then make an effort to do that everyday. But that's why I have the voices; they help me get okay. I help me get okay.

Wake up Sara. Get up Sara. Go outside Sara. Don't forget to smile. You're okay.

The clock on my nightstand starts blaring like an air raid siren. I slam my fist down hard on it, cracking the plastic and possibly some of the bones in my pinkie. I start clenching and unclenching my hand.

Now I'm awake. I'm alive. Both kind of suck.

But you're a big girl now; you have to get over it.

I reach for the nightstand again and grab my phone. I click the top button to turn on the screen, but it blinds me and I drop it on my face. I can already tell that today is going to be just peachy. The universe must want me to stay in bed today too. For the first time in a long time we agree on something.

I pick up the phone again and wait for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the screen. I have 4 messages and, not to my surprise at all, they're all from Colten.

Colten Shepard, 12:30 am
Goodnight babe <3
Colten Shepard, 4:30 am
Hey, you awake?
Colten Shepard, 4:40 am
Guess not ...
Colten Shepard, 6:02 am
Good morning beautiful:)

It sounds rude, but the first thing I do is roll my eyes. We aren't together, or in love. I'm not anyways. To me he's just a friend with too many expectations and stupid romantic ideas about things that have no business being romanticized. I don't want to reply to him; the last thing he needs is me talking to him after he calls me some girly pet name, but my phone's iMessage has already shot that horse in the face. I have to reply, or risk some awkward confrontation later.

Me, 6:35 am
Hey.
Colten Shepard, 6:35 am
How are you this morning? Did you have a good sleep?
Me, 6:38 am
I'm okay. It was alright
Colten Shepard, 6:39 am
Want a ride to school?
Me, 6:41 am
No I'm fine. Thanks for the offer though.
Colten Shepard, 6:42 am
O ... Ok. C u at school.

I put my phone down and exhale deeply. He's upset. He only ever types like a 12 year old going through "the phase" when he's upset. He's immature in that way, because he knows it makes me feel bad when he acts like he's been hurt. It's happened countless times in our relationship regardless of my feelings. Every rejection I've given him for anything, especially "more than friends proposals", has ended with him acting like I've broken his spirit beyond repair. I can't stand him when he acts like this. I can't stand him half of the time, regardless.

I chuckle a little at that; the only person who takes time out of their day to try to be my friend, and I can't stand him. It's not because he's a bad person.

He can get pretty bad when he pulls the friend zone bullshit out and rubs it around in my face, but the real reason I can't handle being around him is the he wants me to be hopelessly in love with him to the point where my depression goes away. Somewhere in his mind when I began to open up to him he rationalized that his feelings for me were the cure for everything. But life isn't like that, and no feelings from him will ever remedy anything. He's blind to it though, and pursues me nonetheless with promises of happiness and other bullshit. The reality is that his "love will fix you" mindset makes me feel worse about myself and about our friendship.

But he tries to be my friend, and that's got to count for something, even if it's a small something. He's one of the few that protects me from the Queen Bee, and that's a comfort to me, even though his fondness of me only makes her hate me more. Her crush on him was part of what started her relentless hatred of me. I can remember the day she told me she liked him like it was yesterday, and I can remember the day she started to hate me because of it even clearer. I had no idea how hard the Queen Bee would sting me because I was existing too close to Colten.

I put my hands over my eyes and run them through my hair. Thinking about her stresses me out. I have to get over it though.

I look over at the clock and sigh. 7:00AM. I've procrastinated getting up as long as I should allow myself to.

Get up Sara. Time to get up.

I sit up in my bed and pull my comforter off as fast as I can. My room feels freezing without it, and I'm woken up almost immediately from the rush. It's still too dark in my room to see anything, but turning on the light or opening the curtains will only make my eyes sting. I wobble blindly towards my door, stepping on dirty discarded clothes and clothes that I didn't bother to put away after washing. When I reach the door I open it slowly, careful not to make much noise. I don't want my mom to know I'm awake until I've gotten out of the shower.

It's not a short walk from my room to the bathroom but my head is spinning enough to make it feel like a kilometre. The hallway is dark and the light of the bathroom creeps along the wall, waiting to blind me. I push the slightly ajar door open with my finger tips.

Yeah, blinded.

My eyes adjust to the bathroom light and soon I'm staring at a tiny girl in the mirror. She could be pretty, if she tried. Her face is round, framed by a pitch black pixie cut with bright blue highlights. They look as artificial as her weak smile. Her upper lip is thin and wispy, contrasting the plumpness of her lower lip. Her skin is dark, olive coloured and she has thick eyebrows that arch gently over her dull grey eyes. I stare at her and criticize her nose, which seems a little bulbous at the end and points upwards farther than it seems it should. There's a bump on it where a stud used to dig into her skin before it was replaced with a ring,...