Susan looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how they could possibly make her pretty for the funeral. She knew that she wasn’t good looking. That had been apparent enough over her last three relationships. Somehow, no one was ever ugly at their funeral, at least not any funeral she had been to, which admittedly, wasn’t many.

If only things had been different. If anything had been different. There were so many things wrong with her she just wanted to start over from the beginning or let everything slip away. She wasn’t sure which was scarier though she supposed it didn’t matter. Whatever would happen would happen without her consent anyway. It always did.

On the other side of the razor blade there wasn’t weight problems, failing grades, loneliness, zits, or asthma. Beyond the razor blade was another place. She was tired of being so fucking exhausted all the time. This was for the best.

Resigned, almost happy, Susan taped a note to the bathroom mirror.

It said-

Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m sorry.