Dear definitely not Greyson's diary,

Welp, it's game day. I guess I don't exactly have much to say for myself this morning. I'm scared. I tried not to be, I tried everything I could to avoid this. I played football, I tried dating a popular girl from my dad's church, I tried not being stupid at school, but now I've realized all of that was not mean't to be my story. I was never destined to have a story. I don't know exactly what is going to become of me after I do what I'm about to do. Perhaps I'll finally be free and happy, or perhaps I'll just rot. Either way, everything is finite. At least this way I can't go forgotten.

Greyson's dad dropped him off down the street from the highschool leaving him to walk all the way up to the bleachers alone. It wasn't unusual for his father to do whatever was convenient for himself. This didn't even scratch the surface.

The week prior he made Greyson walk to the store to pick up food for dinner and only gave him enough to cover food for himself, leaving Greyson to eat a bologna sandwich and a handful of slightly hardened raisins for the fourth night in a row. He figured he wasn't starving, so at least he had that. He thought that perhaps if he could just find a job he wouldn't be in this situation anyways.

The bleachers were old and weathered, presenting as a hard reminder of where Greyson never again wanted to be and where he once was. His spot on the team was his one ticket to feeling accepted by his family. They never really payed him much mind until he did somthing stupid and got in trouble.

But when he made the Varsity football team sophomore year, his entire family was there to watch his first game. It felt like for once he was finally the kid they all wanted to brag about and show to all their friends.

This game felt like the exact opposite. The team was kicking ass, and this time it just pissed him off even more. How dare they win a game and get cheers from their friends and family when all he was left with were himself and the cold hard bleachers?

The first half of the game dragged by like one of those really boring long lectures about polynomials that always put everyone to sleep. Thinking about polynomials was at least a little more pleasant than watching his ex teammates kick ass without even putting forth effort. The other team had absolutely zero chance and everyone already knew what would happen in the end. They might as well not even have the game.

When everyone began moving from their seats and talking, it finally occurred to Greyson that halftime had officially arrived and this was really happening. He dug around in his hoodie pouch trying to avoid drawing any unwanted attention.

From within his pocket he popped open his father's prescription strength painkillers. He looked around nervously trying not to seem suspicious to any onlookers. He'd googled how to do it for hours and thought he would be prepared. He almost felt bad that people had really brought their kids to this thing. At least that was only one minor inconvenience. He didn't really recognize anyone he was sitting by anyways.

It was time now. No backing down. He poured a fist full of pills from within his pocket and popped them into his mouth

Unfortunately that's about all he remembered from the moment it all went down. It must have been quite the scene because by the time his awareness kicked back in, he was greeted by the one thing he never thought to expect: complete pin drop silence.

Not a single person in his entire section of the bleachers made even the slightest of peeps as he was being loaded onto a stretcher and hauled out when he finally got the courage to look down just the sight of his red stained hoodie was enough to make him feel like passing out. He must have cut himself on something as he fell.

Why was he not dead yet? This was not in the plan. The amount of drugs he took were supposed to work so fast that it was guaranteed there was no saving him. He tried everything he could do to struggle against the straps they'd use to restrain his arms while in the ambulance, until finally he faded into darkness.

When he finally awoke, he was greeted by a tall boxy man in a clean set of charcoal gray scrubs. Definitely not what he imagined hell to look like.

Though perhaps he was wrong. He was all alone, no father, no friends, no personal possessions, just him, a hospital gown, a random dude, and... stitches? When did they do that? They must have done it while he was unconscious. Clearly he wasn't dead so once again, he was a failure.

The sight of a long line of stitches going vertically up Greyson’s left wrist nauseated him. What in the fuck had he done? This must be the end, they'd thrown him in the loony bin for sure.