April 11, 2015. I punched him as hard as I possibly could; his limp body hit the ground immediately. I could not bear another second of them kissing any longer. I looked at her with my fist clenched and my body full of rage. All eyes were on me, my heart was pumping at an extreme rate as I yelled “Fuck this shit!” and stormed out of the house pushing people and flipping two chairs on my way out. I then entered my car and drove home with alcohol still in my system, no one tried to stop me. Immediately after arriving at my house I went up to my room and destroyed everything we once shared, pictures, notes, gifts, and threw it all in a box which I would then take to her house only to leave it there for her to come home to. Prom was supposed to be fun, a night every high school student looked forward to. I told my parents I did not want to go, I told them I would have no fun and it would be a waste of time and money. I told them I would have no date because the girl whom I had planned on going with, a girl, who I had dated for the last three years, would not be going with me. I have no recollection of the drive home that night or the days and months following that awful party. I often ask myself why? Was this my hearts way of protecting itself? I had fallen into a downward spiral of depression and anger which only progressively got worse. I was 17 years old, a junior in high school who was actively involved in sports, the community, as well as different clubs and
