The little pink envelopes stare at me on the bed, their flaps pointing to the floor above.

I don't believe in heaven, I gave up on my childish fantasies when I made this decision.

I gently pull a clean piece of paper towards me, noticing how flimsy it feels between my fingers. I tear it, close to the edge, needing to prove how fragile it really is. I add it to my pile of broken papers, just like me. But not for long.

Soon I will be whole.

I start writing, desperate to get the words out, desperate to lessen the impact of the blow I was about to swing. I wipe the phantom tears from my cheeks, I haven't been able to shut that out. My pain has torn through my barricades and over-powered me.

It is all I have left to hold onto.

It feels like a friend that won't let go, no matter how much I beg them to. I have to steel myself, the pain whispers motivations, reminding me how I ended up here. Why I am never going to leave.

'Why are you waiting?' It soothes me. 'You know no-one will fix you. You can't change, you're too afraid of failing at it. No-one will care for long, you're depressed, lazy, anti-social and overweight. They will understand the service you are doing for society by ending it here. You were only going to be a disappointment. Too quick to anger and so rude, it doesn't surprise me that no-one likes you.'

It rubs my back, coaxing me further off the theoretical cliff. I sighed, defeated and start to write, the pen scratches against the flowery paper. Such a contrast, the beauty mingled with the ugliness of my half-hearted apologies. I placed the first letter cocooned in its pink envelope, addressing it to

'The one who showed my determination and strength'

I start again, my body cold as I write the words I pray wouldn't break him. I pour all my love into that page, bottling the years of resentment and pain he brought me.

He didn't need it, not now.

I would pretend, for him, for those last moments. I slip it into its envelope home and address it to

'The one who gave me practicality and stubbornness'

With shaky fingers I take the last piece of paper, needing him to know how much I will miss him. And how sorry I am for my actions. I try to not delve into that empty space inside me, I know he is better than me. I address it to

'The one who stood beside me'

I seal them and place them on the end of my bed. Now it was time to get ready for my final presentation. I put on the beautiful grey dress, its layers of tulle pushing the dress out.

I remember the laughs and smiles I had when I spun, watching the skirt flare and ripple with the speed. I run my hands down the dress, feeling the rough applique of the flowers graze against my skin, like pinpricks. I do my make-up and hair choosing to leave my feet bare.

I won't need shoes where I'm going.

I take a deep, unsteady breath before looking at myself in the mirror. I wasn't beautiful, the make-up has already started running from my tears, my normal blue eyes red and swollen. My face is a mess of pimples that never left. My body is tight in the dress, I have put on more weight since I bought it. The thought crushes me, I have tried and failed at making myself pretty. I tear myself from the mirror and grab the bag I have hidden under my bed.

I walk onto the balcony, the wind catching in my hair as I gently shut the door, I didn't want dad to complain about the house being cold when he finishes work.

I looked across to the city skyline broken by the tree on the nature strip. The cranes blinked in unison across the bleak sky, lighted by slivers of sunlight that stretched across the sky, unfazed by those grey clouds. I take a deep breath, smelling the chill that has wheedled through the sweet air. I drop the rope, keeping a firm grip on the end. I loop and tie the rope, securing it in place because I know the drop wouldn't end me. I tighten the noose around my neck and climb onto the thin edge of the ballistrade. I pray my knees will hold, that my weight won't break it. I look across to the man-made lake, as the sun ripples of the water. I listen to the cars race below, a honk sounded in the distance. I can see the people, like minatures in a doll house, walking past and admiring the beauty I couldn't see in the world.

Not anymore.

If I ever could.

I grip the metal bars with my roes, steadying me. I grab my arm, instinctively covering my scars. The only thing that told you what I am.

Weak

Selfish

Depressed.

I let the fresh wave of tears overpower me but I refuse to cover them, this is who I am. I let go of my suffocating hold on my emotions. Opening the box I had trapped them in and let them wash over me. They battled for dominance, wanting to be felt within these moments. My fear, excitement and regret crashed together, creating an erratic dance inside me that give me pause.

But it's not enough.