I grab a razor from my pale blue dress pocket and stare at it. I grip it, ready to slice my wrist. It won't be as painful to end my life if I bleed out. My heart has been ripped out and stomped on. I've tried my hardest to survive, but I can't anymore. I need to free myself from the burden of the world. Once I die, I will meet my mother on the other side, and we'll be happy together. 

I dig the razor in my skin and slowly move it across my wrist. I gasp as blood; so much blood comes out of my cut. I panic...