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Fat Ass. Fugly. Pig. Lard.

          These are the things that they wrote on your locker today. These are also the things that they’ve written on your locker every day for the past two weeks. They are also the things that they said to you for four years. Four long, unbearable, insufferable, agonizing years. It wasn’t just words this time though. If it were just words, you wouldn’t have hit your breaking point. No, this time there were pictures, too. Pictures of you from the locker room during first hour. All of your fat clearly on display. It is this that pushed you to your breaking point. But they won’t be able to say those things to you or take humiliating pictures of you anymore. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next year. Never again will they have the opportunity to cut you down or make you hate yourself more than you already do because, as of tonight, you won’t be here anymore. You’ll be dead. But they will be alive and they will have to live with the fact that they did this to you. At your funeral, they will probably say that you were beautiful and that they don’t know why you did this to yourself. But deep down, they will know that they are liars. No one ever called you beautiful and everyone will know why you did this to yourself.

          But now that’s their burden, not yours. You are finally free.