I look in the mirror. Disgusting. I try and smile like they tell me, but I can't. My Fake smile can only get me so far. I grab the knife from the bathroom counter. Will this make me smile? Will this make them love me? If I cut will I be happy? I stare into that knife, that might change things. There's only one way to find out. If it doesn't work, at least I'll die with a smile. I bring the knife closer to my mouth. I'm scared, but that won't stop me now. And so I cut, And cut, And cut. Now I'm smiling. I'm crying. I'm bleeding. The gun on my counter calling out to me, and all I do is agree.

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