How can I help my friend, or even support her after I read something like this she wrote?

I wake up in the morning and know how the day is going to turn out. A lot of people say being positive will make it all better, but I’ve been positive for so long with nothing in return. Well, I guess that’s not true. I haven’t tried hard enough, I suppose.

I walk to the bathroom and look in the mirror to see what I look like. The result is always displeasing. I gather the unfinished homework from the day before and stuff it in my backpack. Then I get dressed into clothes that are too small for me, attempting to make myself appear slimmer. I always end up failing and I ignore the kindness of those who try and convince me otherwise.

After I’m ready I wait for the transit bus, hoping people aren’t looking at me, but I know people will look especially since I’m waiting along the main drag of town. When the bus stops I get on and take my seat, hoping the driver won’t talk to me. From there I look out the window and think about everything. Bad and good. Mostly bad.

I stop at my destination and walk over to my best friend’s house. Sometimes I sit on her couch next to her and cry about the things I thought about on the bus and sometimes I ignore my completely random depression to spare her the trouble. I watch her get ready, wondering if she feels the same way I do when it comes to appearance and we gather in her mom’s car who takes us to school. On the way we pick up two of our friends. I hate being shoved into a car full of people, but I don’t complain much.

When we get to school everything falls on my shoulders. I wonder what bad thing will happen. Will I get annoyed at my friends for no reason, will I look down at myself after comparing my body to my friends and peers, will I regret not taking time out of my useless life to actually do an assignment.

From there it goes in stages. First I think about those things, and then I begin to blame others. It’s my friend’s faults for being so irritating, it’s those girl’s faults for being so pretty and looking down on me, and it’s the teachers fault for not teaching me good enough. The stage after that is guilt. I don’t have the right to be irritated at people who have done nothing, I shouldn’t hate the girls who work for their beauty, and I shouldn’t be mad at the teachers for doing what they can; it’s not their fault I’m not a good student.

The day goes by and it’s either good or bad, or maybe both. I say goodbyes to those who don’t ignore me or go off without even thinking about farewells and wait for the transit bus home with my best friend. I have a look on my face that forces her to ask what’s wrong, and usually I answer with the same thing as the day before, and the day before that. She feels bad because she can’t help, and I feel bad because I shouldn’t put her through that. The bus arrives and we take our seats. I listen to my music player for the whole ride, looking out the window and thinking about the same things I thought about in the morning during the bus ride. We arrive at my stop and we get off.

The street is always busy so I get annoyed with the rude drivers, but then I tell myself they could be in a hurry so it’s okay if they don’t stop. I continue to space out while I walk with my best friend toward my house. I look down the block, and try not to look at a certain house, but I do anyway. A sharp pain goes through my chest, but I continue on like it doesn’t bother me.

I enter inside and feel at peace but that peace doesn’t last long when I realize who’s there. I go down the hallway towards what used to be my bedroom but instead of going there I take a turn and enter the house’s dining room. There are blankets on the doorways held up with tacks and nails. I’m not important enough for a room. I had been living in the dining room for almost a year.

My best friend and I go into my ‘room’ and drop our things. She leaves for the bathroom and I think about what we’re going to do. Probably watch T.V like we always do. I go into the kitchen just a blanket door away and gather for food. I think about how I shouldn’t eat it, how I should starve myself or maybe how I could just throw it back up later. Frightened of vomiting, I decided starving myself would be less messy, but I don’t. I eat the food and feel mental knives slash at my heart.

My friend and I reunite in my room and watch T.V. Before I know it four or five hours pass and its time for her to leave. I wish she could stay forever so I wouldn’t be alone, but life isn’t that good. She gives me a hug and leaves and I’m alone once again. I could do homework, but I don’t. I look at my assignment and think about how I don’t get it, and how I’m a terrible student and not smart at all. I toss it to the side and go on the computer, updating my profile status on a website. I think about writing, but everything I write is unprofessional and depressing, like the thing I’m writing now. I want to draw, but I can’t draw what’s in my mind. I can only draw small cartoons with round heads and stubby arms. I talk to some friends, sometimes I vent to them about my emotions.

Occasionally a friend will ask me questions that irritate me or they’ll talk about something that makes me jealous. Eventually they sign out, bored of me more than likely, and I do the same things as I were before, thinking and debating. I eat some more, waste some food and time on my laptop. My dad in the living room also just a blanket away blasts his T.V really loud, and sometimes makes his fat wiener dog bark. My mom squeals over her large obese canine and she nags at me to do my chores I do every day. When I don’t do them, she sighs really loud and sometimes slams the dishes in the sink. She’s broken quite a few bowls and plates, but go buys some more the next day.

I shout to my parents about them being loud but they don’t care. Sometimes they’ll just get louder. I have a momentary outburst of tears and sometimes scratch my face in frustration. It doesn’t leave much damage because I have short nails. I think about slitting my wrists but my reason is stupid, so I don’t. Instead I cry for a few more minutes, thinking about how I’m too emotional, and people have it worse than me. Sometimes I think I’m crazy.

After that I think about how ungrateful I am.

I’m ungrateful because I dread the morning when there are some infants who have never gotten to open their eyes.

I’m ungrateful because I slap on make-up when people who have deformed faces wish they had my face.

I’m ungrateful because I hate my appearance when some girls would probably love to have my body.

I’m ungrateful because I’m bad at school, and don’t do anything, when some people can’t have an education.

I’m ungrateful because I waste the time some people don’t or didn’t have. I’m a selfish, ungrateful person.

After all of this, I get ready for bed and hope the next day will be better.

But I know it won’t.