People call me strong- everyone who's seen my story or heard it, call me strong. 'Oh, she's such a strong young lady, I bet I can't endure that much.'

'She's too young to go through so much but she's so resilient, I wish I had a strength like hers' and I just scoff at their words, and sometimes want to punch them all on the jaw or groin, or their eyes especially so they won't need to see me after then, because they actually do not know what they are talking about, i tell you.

You see, I'm actually really weak.

In fact, I could pass for the definition of a weakling. I'm not being pessimistic- call it realistic. I don't know what these people see, but it's definitely not the truth.

Come to think of it, a weakling is a person of weak character, lacking in courage and/or moral strength.

I, Ashley Amahle am a synonym for that word

Synonyms - Ashley, Amahle

Antonyms: Glenda, Zuri

Example One- You're a Ashley! You can't even do anything on your own! Phew!

Example Two- I thought I was a Glenda, but I tried doing it again and I'm afraid I'm starting to be a Ashley. I need some confidence, man.

That's how our dictionaries should be set now. There's nobody as cowardly as I am in the whole wide world.

Glenda(or Zuri), my older sister is my opposite.

I am like a frail old woman who can't even grab things without them falling off her fingers, or a wobbly individual who can't keep water down their throat.

Do these people even have dictionaries in their possessions?

Or maybe their own definition of strong is different from mine.

Strong people create solutions without letting nothing hold them back.

Nothing at all.

They don't encourage procrastination and they are usually not defenseless.

They don't whimper in the face of fear or crawl into a hole to avoid it.

All they do when they see an opportunity or a way out is, grab it as fast as they can and make a go for it, even when it's too difficult to do.

That's not me at all. I have never been that way

If I'm strong, why is it so tough for me to chug the dark thick liquid I bought at the store on my nineteenth birthday, down my throat without looking back?

It looked like death but who cared?

It's been lying there in my chest drawer for six days now. My birthday was six days ago, and I swear, I don't want to have any more birthdays on this earth.

Nicolas won't stop pampering me and treating me to a nice meal on my big days.

Not that I'm complaining or I'm not grateful for him, but I wish he will just forget about me and move on with his life because I'm no good for him.

I know he loves me truly but I wish he didn't.

I just want him to help me end my life, or teach me how to. I'm too broken, I guess.

I mean, I try all the time but I am just too cowardly to end it. I wince like a foolish wounded pet when I cry, and even I, hate the sound of it.

Why is it so hard for me to help myself? It's not like I am committing a crime- I am only trying to embrace peace. Not?

Nicolas did tell me that there is peace on the other side.

Anytime he talked about life to his friends at pool or at school, he never stops saying that.

I wonder what he means?

And when I remember those words, it makes me feel like texting him to come over already and help me swallow the liquid everytime I try to, but what if he thinks I am crazy and doesn't help me?

On a second thought, I stop caring someone might think that I am crazy. I don't care that Nicolas might already see me crazy.

Let him come help me shut my eyes and sip it like my favorite soda.

It is fucking hard each time I try to do it on my own.

It doesn't help that I try to imagine it being my favorite soda or hot chocolate drink, that Nicolas got me whenever I felt like having it,or maybe I am simply afraid of how mercilessly it would tear my intestines and liver.

Ask me what I fear the most, and I'll tell you 'Death'.

I really don't know which could be worse- the pain of dying physically from poison or dying emotionally from being abused.

I want badly to avoid the latter as quickly as I can, but I also want to cross to the other side without pain.

Nicolas knows a lot about these things.

He also knows that I hate drugs, bitter or not, I just hate their smell.

I need him.

I know all I need to do is text him and he will be at my doorstep in thirty minutes to take me away- he doesn't live too far away, but you see, I am not bold enough to call for him because as soon as he comes close, I am sure to have all my rehearsed words flying out the window.

I am going to find myself talking to him about craving chicken feet and soda for a while now, unbelievably, or about us seeing the latest series together at his place soon enough.

I always need courage to do everything and so most times, I end up not doing them.

I am too afraid to talk to my boyfriend about my problems. The thing is, I don't like talking about them.

Even though he knows all of them, he wants me to talk but I don't want to be a burden, so I rather go to my favorite place and talk to the sunset and the wind.

I've been doing that since my seventeenth birthday.

So when next you are tempted to call me a strong woman, get ready to be punched in the groin for lying to my face.

I'm not anything like Glenda, my older sister- she's the definition of strong, brave, cool and resilient.

She is no crybaby like I am, she wears her problems like a pair of underwear and wears a big smile over them like a coat in winter.

I know she got bigger problems than I got, and I wonder how she can manage with them all this time.

And that is why I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to disturb her with my troubles. I can't even do that if I want to. She's left home.

I don't want to disturb sweet Nicolas either but I gotta call him now.

I don't even have a choice.