I’m at home, sitting on the couch, writing a novel in a spiral notebook, which is what I usually do in my free time. The room is silent, except for music that plays from my laptop. The music isn’t depressing, it’s actually Irish Folk Music that makes me pleased and want to dance around. However, it’s different today. As of right now, my heart is throbbing as various negative thoughts run around in my head.
Why does everyone at school hate me?
What is it about me that makes them hate me?
Will I ever be good at making friends?
Will I ever be perfect?
Who am I?
The thoughts form a lump in my throat that is as immovable, as a big boulder. To try and get rid of it, I swallow and swallow and swallow, but the lump is for sure not a snack. I can’t digest it down into my stomach. Another solution is that I could just focus on the wonderful story I’m writing; but it’s just as depressing as my life.

The boy in the scene that I’m currently writing is crying and his best friend is sitting right by him; giving him hugs. He should actually be pleased that he’s not alone like I am right now. He’s not even weeping over anxiety, his father just committed suicide, his mother passed away when he was a baby, and his sister is blaming him for his father’s suicide. Now that I think about it, he technically is alone because he has no family left to talk to his feelings about.
I continue writing about the boy’s misery, while thinking: My life could be worse. I could be like the story character and have no family.
Wait, my parents aren’t home. Technically, I am without my family until dinnertime tonight. As I write, I find myself in the same mood as the boy: crying.
When I’m down, I do what I like, but that’s not working in my favor right now. I wish I could be perfect, but it may never happen. 
I think about what I’m writing-- the boy without his family members. It’s his friend who is taking care of him while he’s emotional; I think about how similar we are.. I know I have at least 2 good friends, but only one of them I would count on to help me with personal issues. The other one is too busy and happy with her life to help me.
I run upstairs to grab my phone to text her and she responds back a second after I text her. Thankfully.
I’ll walk over. See ya in a minute.
I wait in my living room for her and see her come to my door a few minutes later. I open the door and let her come in. We go down to the basement because I wanted to show her my story, and so that she could use my laptop in case she needed to look up how to help me on the Internet.
“So what’s the problem?” She asks me while we sit on the couch together.
“They’re just inner thoughts that bring me down,” I sob. “Does everyone at school hate me?"
She sighs.
“Chloe,” she says. “No one that I know of hates you. I think you’re likeable and would be surprised if someone hated you.”
“Why can’t I be perfect?” I asked. “Alicia, you’re perfect.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m far from perfect,” she says. “I don’t even have a boyfriend but people still call me names that suggest I am a girl who constantly cheats on guys.”
I think about what she told me, and it seemed too barbarous to be true. However, Alicia has never lied to me and knows real well how to handle situations seriously. She’s only 15 but gives helpful advice like a real mother; except she doesn’t even want to have kids.
“If I was nicer to people, would anything change?” I ask. “I’ve tried that and then got bullied.”
“Chloe,” Alicia says. “If people don’t reward you for being nice, that’s their problem. I know it’s not fun being a teenager when everyone at school is all cliquey, but life will get better. Just be a nice person, and don’t worry about the way others treat you.”
I am still feeling like the boy in my book, because I have a friend by my side who is doing a good job with comforting me.
“I know I’m going to feel like this again,” I say. “How can I prevent that?”
“Tell yourself you’re awesome,” Alicia says. “Be like, ‘I am Chloe McCleary and I don’t care what others think of me because I know I’m awesome!’”
I chuckle, just because of her enthusiasm.

“Thanks, Alicia. I’m glad you came over to help me. You should really have kids, because you’re a very motherly person.”
She chuckles then hugs me.
“I’d rather travel than have kids. Anyway, no problem. I hope you feel better, and just work towards your dream to be a best-selling author.”
“Thank you. See you at school Monday.”
She goes back upstairs and leaves me alone. That’s okay though, I need some time to think about how I can feel better about myself. I plan on taking her advice, and keeping her as a friend because she’s always there for me. I go back to my writing.