The best day of my life started out like every other lame day of my life, I was slitting my wrists again. In my dark, black, deserted room in the back of the house I sat cross legged on the floor in the corner with my back up against the wall and my knees pulled to my chest. My left arm was curled around my legs and in my right hand a razor. Blood dripped to my already tear-stained carpet, I desperately covered my face with a pillow, trying to block out my fathers screaming through the paper-thin walls. I got up, and wiped away the river flowing from my eyes. Slowly, but surly I crawled onto the pile of bricks I call my bed, and imagined what my life would be like if my dad wasn’t wasted 24/7. What it would be like if my mother hadn’t died of alcohol poisoning, and if my best friend in the whole world hadn’t been killed by none other than a drunk driver.
Every day at school was the same for me. Every where I went I went alone. I’m not exactly the kind of girl everyone jumped in line to be friends with. I wore a black long sleeve shirt every day to hide my scars, and “complimented” that with the black pants I also wore accessibly. My tan face was hidden by black eye shadow, mascara, way too much black eye liner, blood red lipstick, and nearly albino looking base. My long, natural, “Barbie blonde” hair was replaced with short, pitch black pieces of thread, whose only purpose was to cover my face.
Cruel, constant stares pierced my heart worse than a thousand needles. I could feel the corners of my eyes tearing up. I rushed to the bathroom. Luckily, no one is in there. I stepped into an open stall, pulled a razor out of my purse, and begun cutting my wrists, over and over again. The bell rang; quickly I washed the blood from my wrists and the tears from my eyes, grabbed my books and went to English.
Though I was late, I got into class with no trouble, due to the fact that not even my teachers knew or cared if I was there. I sat in my seat in the back, as always and listened attentively as Mrs. WhatsHerName gave the new assignment. Strangely, I was eager about this one. I pulled out a piece of paper and started jotting things down. Word by word the assignment was pieced together. I re-read my work several times through, and pulled a semi-sweet, half smile of accomplishment to my face. My letter read:

Dear Me,

I’m suppose to write a letter to myself saying how I am feeling and what I’m going to do about it. Well, I know how I’m feeling, and I have the perfect solution! I will start all over, and finally get my fairy-tale life!

When the bell rang, I got up and shoved my books in my locker. I normally skipped out on eating lunch, but I found a dollar on the bus that morning and decided I’d use it; after all I’d have no use for it by morning. I walked to the never-ending lunch line, grabbed a bag of Sunchips and a soda, plopped them on my trey and continued through the line. I was nearly halfway to the cashier when a tall girl wearing blue jeans and a polo tapped me on the shoulder and said, in a high pitched peppy voice, “Hey, I love those chips!” I was stunned someone was actually talking to me! I didn’t know what to say. Finally I blurted out the first words that came to my mind, and we held up a conversation all the way to the empty table that I sat at every day. Jasmine, the tall girl, followed me and sat with me at the table. We got along quite well, and talked off and on till the end of the day!
I was so pre-occupied by the fact that someone had actually talked to me that I hadn’t even thought about “the letter” till I got home. When I got there it was around 5:30, I had the knife gripped tightly in both hands. The argument going on in my head at first, was- “Heart or throat?” But when I remembered Jasmine, the “angel on my left shoulder” changed the argument to “do it or don’t do it?” theoretically speaking, the angel won, and I went to school the next day happier then I’d ever been before! Me and Jasmine met up with each other before and after each class, and with everyday that passed by we got closer and closer, The day meet Jasmine was most certainly the best day of my life!
A few months later, Jasmine and I were officially “B.F.F’s.” Eventually my dark depressing makeup faded down to a light cheerful type color. My hair had a bigger purpose in my life now then blocking my eyesight. I was [I can’t believe I’m going to say this…] happy. And all thanks to that bag of those funny-shaped, square, wavy, Sunchips.