My name is Alex. I am now 19. I attend college in Olympia, Washington. As of now, I want many things. I want to cry. I want to leave. I want someone to hold me. I want to die, and I want to live. I never want anyone else to die this way.

It seems that I've been marked as a beacon of bullshit recently. This past summer I went to my mothers new home in Georgia, driving with her there to help her move the last of her things. The plan was for me to stay there until late August/early September and then return to Washington for school. This, though the only thing that did, went according to plan. I brought 2 major things with me to Georgia. My clothes, and my computer. Everything else in a decent sized van (which was packed to the brim by yours truly) was my mothers. We somehow managed to get everything out in one go. Upon arriving after 4 days of travel, and a lot of texting my at the time boyfriend, we arrived in the late hours and I promptly passed out on the couch. I never again slept very peacefully at that house. My mothers cat was infested with fleas, and the house was infested with cockroaches. And when I say infested, I do mean so. According to the male figure who lived there it had been 6 years since the problem started. I had developed, from previous years of living around fleas, a fear of swarms of bugs. The kitchen was the worst offender in the house, though they liked the thermostat too. As a cook, seeing the kitchen in that level of disrepair and poor sanitation made it very hard to do anything with an appetite. But that was just the hard part to start. A month into my staying there my mother got in a car crash, which rendered her car useless. My mother is a very free spirited person, and this crushed her personality. After the accident (even though she was physically fine for the most part) she complained of pain constantly, and was very frustrated all the time. She was taken to the hospital just after the accident, and after a bit of a process she was prescribed a low does hydrocodone and some ibuprofen. This was the source of the soon to be major problem. 2 weeks after the accident I found my mother on the computer room floor. Out cold. I haven't explained this, but my mother is a very light sleeper, even when she takes her sleeping meds (for insomnia apparently). I was scared, but after finding she was still breathing I decided it would be best to move her to the couch and wait until her, or her roommates woke up. The later happened first, and she didn't wake up for 2 days afterwards, when we had taken her to the hospital the same day I found her. This is when I discovered my mother had a habit with prescription meds. According to her roommate, she had been found once before, drugged up (though not as severely) and informed she was never to do it again. As far as I know, she Was only ever drugged up 2 times there after. Let's resume from the hospital while she was unconscious. I was worried, but honestly, once she was there, there was nothing more that I could do, except wait, and I'm not terribly fond of hospitals. When she returned I made her 2 deals. One: I would forgive her for putting me through this bullshit if she sought help from a mental health institution; Two: If she did something of the sort again, I would not be a shoulder to cry on when things didn't go her way. She refused the first deal, and subsequently voided the second. a week later she was high off her ass on the same combination of drugs that had put her comatose the first time. I was furious. I refused any apology given by her and barely spoke with her until I left. I stayed with my father and my best friend before going back to campus. The day I left for campus I received a call from my mothers roommate, asking if I knew where my mother might be. I did not and was worried. A few hours later I received another call saying that they had been in contact with one of my mothers co-workers who had said she missed work and last received a good-bye message claiming my mom was on her way back to Washington. This, unfortunately, was not the case. 2 days later I received a call from my dad, telling me they had found my mother. A couple hikers had found her in a national park along the river near where she lived. She was laying face up in the water. I won't mince this. She committed suicide. My mother decided to leave everything and force us, her family, to pick up the pieces.

Two weeks later I attended my mothers funeral. I hardly knew most of the people who were family in attendance. I had requested my best was there, as he was as much my mothers child as I was, even if not by blood. My grandmother was furious when he went up to speak about my mother, shortly after I did. I still have a hard time believing we could be related, with her not thinking I would bring someone to something that didn't concern them. My father attended as well, his soon to be fiance (and my soon to be step-mother) was with him, though she felt she should not have been. Now, around a month later, I have an interesting chain of days in September. First my Birthday. Then my mothers death day. Then my Best friends birthday. All within a week of the next.

I won't tell you not to kill yourself. I won't tell you if you don't everything will become better. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. However, if you're concerned with whether or not your living is a burden to others... Remember how your death will be a bigger one. This has scarred me. And despite how I may have seemed, I loved my mother. And now I can't seem to forgive her. I'm writing this down as a method of self-preservation. The interior of my mind was already unstable, though I was starting to find balance between the parts of me that did not want to exist and those that did. Now... Everything is spinning and jumping and moving all over again. I'm having troubles remembering things. I'm having issues forcing myself to do simple things that need to be done. I don't want to die.