How could anyone possibly answer that question? Who you are to you is made up of way more than words could ever possibly describe. Who I am to any of you may be described in few words. But it is absolutely impossible for me to tell you who I am. Who I am is a product of everything I've been through, and how I've perceived those events. I am someone who made myself think on a deeper level until it became automatic and consumed me. I realized that deeper thinking is a beautiful thing to dabble in, but too easily becomes a habit. You get lost in it, and as a result, spend way too much time answering questions that the average person would have no problem with. It can be a gift when it comes to empathy and writing, but it is also a curse, as you will never live without questioning why everything is the way it is. You will not make a decision without considering what will come of all the people involved. You will not pick any side in an argument, because you will always see both of them. You will have much trouble explaining your own feelings, because the maze of words you try to use will never make sense to anyone. Who am I? People may answer this question with a few characteristics about themselves, such as funny, talkative, secluded. They may mention some hobbies they enjoy. But I cannot do that. I can't tell you characteristics about myself because there are no concrete characteristics. I am ever-changing. On here, you shall know me as Bonic. I will always know me as "I." But who "I" is is not something either of us will ever have the ability to explain.

As I stand on the ledge, looking down towards the ground, I feel peaceful. I feel serenity. I feel free. I glance back to see the door, open and vacant, leading back down into the building. There was no turning back.

Goosebumps crawl up my legs as I feel the cool breeze against my back from 47 stories above the streets of New York, almost as if it's encouraging me to fall. Finally, it can be over.

Holding my journal tightly against my chest, I remember all it holds. All the pain, deceit, suffering, regret. It's amazing it can all be displayed inside this book. It's amazing it all fit inside my heart for so long, too. It can finally be free, and so can I.

I close my eyes, and lean forward. The sound of wind crescendos in my ears, filling my head with sound. I feel my body falling through the air, like the final piece of sand to the bottom of an hourglass.

My eyes filled with tears, or maybe it was just from the wind. Either way, I was more happy than anything. Ready to experience whatever comes after I land. I fall until I hear the bang. It strikes me moments before the pain, followed by feeling as though there is a soft cushion beneath me. Then, everything goes black.

(Journal entry, dated 10/19/13)

...they're always yelling, that's all I hear. It won't stop getting to my ears, even when I cover them. Leilah putting her arm around me will never be enough to comfort me, as the arm is filled with just as much fear as mine. The argument was over the rum this time, dad claiming it went missing and yelling at mom, who I can tell had plenty of something. I just wish I knew why they were like this. Maybe it was us...

Tired and teary-eyed, I ended the entry there. Everytime I think past that line, it becomes too much. 14 years in this house, and so much has changed. They never would've done this 8 years ago.

What happened to them is a mystery to me, even after all this time. They hardly have a normal conversation with me now, let alone an emotional one. With no one there, I'd normally confide in my sister. But with her off at college, I need to fill her role. Not only around the house, but as being what she was to me to my little brother.

"Luke, get your lazy ass out here!" The sound roars out of the kitchen. Against my will, I get up, body aching with every step.

Standing in the kitchen was the man himself, my father. He had been a good man at one point, although he was never completely mentally stable. One night, he lost his parents and his sister all in the same snowy day, when they were on their way to meet him for an Easter dinner, and hasn’t been the same since. He still won't drive in the snow, either.

"I thought you were supposed to take this bag to my friend," he says, loudly and raspy-voiced. I knew what was inside the bag, which is why I didn't bring it. My friend, Leila, lived 2 houses down. Her mother and my father were good “friends.”

Leilah and I of course knew what they did, as we were also good "friends." But we were friends sober, they were only friends intoxicated.

"Why can't you just bring it there when you go over?" I ask, knowing the answer, but wondering how he'll respond.

The answer comes in a blow to my head, a grim laugh ,and a crooked smile. "Idiot, I don't go there until she's used what's inside. Get your ass over there."

"Fine," I answer, slipping my shoes on and walking out the door. I needed an excuse to see Leilah anyways, she hadn't responded in hours.

The night was clear and chilly, with no sound to be heard besides the buzz of a street light and leaves ruffling in the cool October breeze. I wonder about Leilah and her family, and how they've been. Her mom is much like mine, except she's single and tends to get around.

I approach the door and knock 3 times. I see a split open in the blinds, and then the knob turns. Inside the doorway stands a 26 year old lady, standing about 5'7 tall with her heels on. Her curly brown hair was frizzy, but still shimmered in the porch light. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, with an obvious stain near her chest.

"I was wonderin' when you'd show up," she says with her odd western accent and a laugh. "Well, come on in boy!" I follow her instruction, and enter into the living room.

I examine her quickly, and notice the dilation in her pupils contrasting against her bright blue eyes. "Where's Leilah?" I question, wanting an excuse to leave the room. Ms. Fowly is weird when she's high, and very unpredictable.

"I think she fell asleep, I haven't heard from her for a bit. You should hang out with me instead, honey," she says, with the same tone she has when she talks to my father. "You've grown up so much in the past few years, child. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about being a grown up."

"I really should be getting home.." I try to say, but I know she's not listening. She's already grabbing my shirt and rubbing her hands around my crotch.

"You're starting to sound a lot like your father. I wonder how much you inherited from him..." she says with a light moan. I know what she's implying, and begin backing away.

"My dad told me I needed to come right home," I lie, with a shaky voice. I'm a teenage boy, of course she's tempting. But, despite everything that happens around me, I still have my morals. With her daughter, my girlfriend, in the room over, this just wasn’t right. I also didn’t know when my dad was coming, and if he showed up, I wouldn’t have a place to sleep anymore.

"Don't lie to me, Luke. You know you want to," she teases. "I know I want to." She takes off her shirt, revealing that she has nothing on underneath, and moves towards me again. Not knowing what to say, I drop the bag and open the door.

"I'm not lying, I have to go." I say, closing the door. I pretend to walk away, but linger, as I listen to the sobbing of Ms. Fowly, followed by the sound of the paper bag being opened. I feel bad, but I know she did it to herself. She wasn’t exactly the best person, and deserves what she’s gotten in life.

I quietly travel to the back of the house, to the window of Leilah’s room. I knock lightly, with no response. Opening the door slightly, I peer into the dark room.

“Leilah?” I whisper, pulling out my phone. I turn on the flashlight, and what I see makes me wish I hadn't.

I rush inside, drop to the ground, and shake the body. It isn't stiff, so I search for a pulse. Feeling one, I sigh with release, and lay back, only to feel something sharp pierce my skin. Surprised, I reach back, grabbing something and holding it in front of my flashlight. What I see is a syringe, and further investigation shows that there's 2 others.

“Miss…” I start to yell for her mother, but remember that I told her I had to go. Not knowing what else to do, I pick up Leilah and carry her out the window.

I walk through the woods until I come to Riley St., which is through the woods about a half mile. There is no time to be tired, and I sprint frantically the whole way through the strip of overgrown woods, holding her like a baby. There I call 911 and wait for the ambulance, holding her and praying she'll be okay. I scribble out a note explaining what I'll do, then stuff it in her bra so no one will find it.

When I hear the ambulance, I run back into the woods, not wanting to seem associated. Waiting in the shadows for the ambulance to leave, I feel tears in my eyes, and think of any better ways I could've handled the situation.

I sit there and stare blankly until the sirens are gone, then I start walking back. I know these woods like the back of my hand,I've spent just as much time here as I have in my room. I find the woods much more peaceful than anywhere else. But, I have things to take care of.

When I get back, I climb back into Leilah’s window, and leave a note, trying to replicate her handwriting.

(Note)

I'm going off into to woods for a few minutes, if you need me just send me a text.

Leilah

Satisfied with the note, I grab the syringes and leave, being careful to close the window behind me. I rush home, and walk silently to my room. Tired, worried, and alone, I lay down. Tears come as I think about what happened, this beautiful girl resorting to heroin once again. I helped her get off of it once, but there's no way of knowing what just happened in her house. Her mother is abusive to her, and hardly ever sober. I just hope she'll be okay