Maybe I can't ever get past this. This darkness. This hopelessness.

My car has spun off the road. Not literally, of course. No, this is the car containing my feelings, such as happiness; the tiny bit of control over my life; my privacy; and all the hope I ever had. The car rolled off the road,  and my happiness fell out, lying there bleeding on the cold, hard ground. My control and privacy weaken and die. My hope disappeared a long time ago. The only things left alive in the car are hopelessness, sorrow, and a grim coldness. This car won't move again.

If anyone asked me, "Why are you going to do this, Hannah? Why? Just one reason; any little thing. Why?" There is no one reason. It is the little things building up over time. Snowball effect. My reasons are a mountain, reaching down to crush me under its mighty weight.

Why would I care that I gained my first kiss, only to be attacked by vile rumors started by the one I kissed? Why would I care that my only two friends, the ones I trusted so dear, each destroyed me? Why would I care that my privacy was destroyed and paranoia was etched deep in my heart? Why would I care that I have been used? Why would I care if I were sexually harrassed? Why would I care that I heard one of the two I used to trust get raped? Why would I care that my only encouragement was stolen? why would I care that I may have let someone die?

Why would I care?

I am almost incoherent. I breathe slowly. In....and out. Repeat. In....and out. I need to be able to speak when I catch my last words on tape. My "Et tu, Brute?"

When I did nothing, I was attacked and I was hurt and I bled so much. When I closed the door, I was left alone. When I reached out my hand, I was not saved. Did no one care for me? Could no one see my pain and distress? Really? Is that truly the case?

I take a deep breath and press the record button.

"Hello, boys and girls. Hannah Baker here. Live and in stereo..."