My life is average.

I've gone through highs and lows, bad points and good. Just like any other living being.

Though, nowadays it seems the bad outnumber the good.

With overprotective, overly religious but well-meaning parents it's been hard to enjoy life that way I want. They have an idea of what I should be, and don't allow me to explore what I want to be.

This, as you can imagine, has lead to suppression. Lots of it.

I can't even properly vent to my therapist because this small town we live in leads to everyone knowing everyone. In other words, my therapist and my step mother are buddies.

Plus, I'm sure most of my opinions would get me thrown in a mental hospital around here. Especially with the prevalent Christianity in the community.

I have a complete disregard for human life.

Maybe it's because I haven't had any actual connections to people I care about, but humans just don't interest me. I can't find anyone to relate to, which would be hard in the first place considering I suppress so much I don't recognize my own personality anymore.

Stolen novel; please report.

I tried to be my own person once, to argue and express opinions, but when it was clear that wouldn't be tolerated I shut down. I just began to hope and wish for my 18th birthday to come soon so I could leave.

Things don't always work out as planned, though.

As my life flashes before my eyes - and a truck comes barreling towards the car my sister and I are in - I feel regret. 

I try not to cry as I realize my life has been wasted behind masks of who I never wanted to be.

My ears are filled with noise as horns honk, people scream, and glass shatters. The grip on my balloon I had held out the window vanishes as I'm thrown out of the front windshield.

I don't think even a seat belt could have helped me, as the entire front of the car is crushed by the large truck.

It's not quick, nor is it painless.

As I lay across the hood of the truck, I finally let the tears fall. With shards of glass embedded in my throat, I'm unable to speak; my mouth filled with blood. 

I look up through the pain, drowning out the screams and desperate calls for 911. My eyes focus on the balloon I was holding as it lazily floats up into the air.

Despite the tears clouding my eyes, I already knew what it read.

"Happy

18th

Birthday!"

Through the pain, my heartache makes itself known. I would say it was worse than the physical pain, but I'd be lying to sound poetic. And that's not what I do.

The blood clogging my throat makes it difficult to breath, causing me to begin choking. The movement flares everything up and makes it more painful than it already is.

Finally, my head begins to feel fuzzy and everything - my eyesight, touch, hearing, and any other senses- fades.

As I close my eyes and the pain disappears, I feel lighter than I've ever felt in my entire life.