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You came for a reason. I have no idea what your intentions are because you've ignored me like I was a sack of stale food but, I couldn't give half a damn.
I mean, I'm pretty annoying I know, I'm a tually sick of myself too.
If I died, you wouldn't even bat an eyelash.
You'd want me to tape myself getting killed or killing myself.
That's how humans are. Sick and twisted no matter what you say you want to watch it deep inside.
You want to laugh about someone else's death when you're crying on the outside.

Believe me, I would laugh at my dead carcus if I we're alive and attending the funeral of my mauled face or suffocated wind pipe.

So, you could probably give a s**t about me being gone. You would rejoice. Ding-Dong the witch is dead.
I'm an annoying brat who likes to write in capslock and read "Yaoi pr0nz".

I like the attention I get when I post about my oh, so depressing life.
I love it.
It helps me pass through the day.

But, I know what you're saying whenever you give me a virtual pat on the back.
You're saying "Oh, suck it up. You'll be fine and annoying tomorrow."

That's true. And when that happens, you ignore me again anyways.
No point in commenting and virtually hugging me and telling me everything will be okay but that's a lie.

You don't even know me.
Not in the least.
My friends think you know me.
You don't.
You're probably not even really my friend.
You don't even remember how we met.
You avoid my question "Do you have a Facebook? 8D" because you don't want to know me.
You can't remember my name.
You probably don't even care to ask.

I know that I'm not funny.
I know that I'm not perfect. Don't even act like you like me.
I'm just pixels.
That's all you know about me.
I don't think you even BOTHERED telling me your name.
You never cared.

Your friends hate me.
They think I'm an annoying emo kid who likes when people compliment her for the things she does or does not say.
You don't care that my birthday is July 26th.
You don't care that I'm actually a sick-minded 12-year-old girl turning 13.
You type "Happy Birthday (stupid Internet nickname)!" but you could care less.
You don't bother to do anything special for me because my birth doesn't matter.
You probably think "I could care less if she decayed in the womb. :/" if you care to think about me at all.
Which you probably don't.
Actually, I KNOW you don't care.

Right now, you're thinking of things to type to calm me down.
To help me through my pixelized depression.
You can't.

If you didn't know already, depression isn't an Internet activity that ends in a heartbeat once you see that they make an emote in their reply back to you.
I doubt you even care about anything else I'm saying.
You have your chin in your hand, reading this stupid, pointless note.

You probably stopped reading this by now or before now.
Maybe you even deleted this thinking "Here goes another "plea for attention""
You're right.
I am writing a plea for attention.
YOUR attention.

You'll never know my secret.
I'll never tell you.
You don't care, remember?

Want to know a fun fact?
My name is Brandi Root and I dream of killing myself and others when I'm not sleeping.
I thought to run away before but couldn't pull it off.
Wanna know why?
Because I'm strong.
I'm as strong as strong gets.

I HAVEN'T commited suicide.
I HAVEN'T killed someone.
But, I HAVE cried.
I've cried and bled.

But, I haven't died.

I have advice for you.
When you look at yourself in the mirror crying, remember that there's tons of people who are in your place right now.
With a bottle of pills or a razor going through their skin.
Or even a gun to their head.

Depression is real.

It affects everyone.

Even if everyone is a kid who smiles up at you and says "I'm okay!" even though he's holding back so many emotions that he doesn't know what to do with.

That kid can be anybody.

The creepy "emo kid" at school who "likes" to sit alone.

The teacher or student that you like to spread rumors about.

Anybody.

You can try to help or try to destroy but there's one thing you can't do.
There's one thing you'll never be ABLE to do.
It's what you think you did in that comment telling me you really do care and that we're so much alike.
Fix.
You can't fix the broken.

I know you can't respond because you're so busy, so..

Have a nice life.