I've decided to rewrite this.

She was a girl I remembered meeting there. Badly dyed hair, pale skin and a smirk every now and then. Scared, I presumed; ashamed, as I was. Looking for a way out.

I woke up that morning feeling the heaviest weight in my chest I've ever experienced. It couldn't even possibly be a feeling- it was a force not meant for the heart. Not meant for the white bars of my bed and the delicate daisies painted on my walls. It resonated off my stale sheets. It consumed me, like water rushing into my eyes and hands and hips and mouth. It drowned me completely, every waking minute of the day. I was so drowned that no piece of food could touch my mouth, no drop of water could grace my skin. It was too much work.

I started losing weight rapidly and ceased going to school. It wasn't an option. Instead, I died in my bed every day. My smile died, my speed died, my energy died; my imagination flourished. There wasn't a corner of the house I didn't picture myself collapsing into. Not a piece of string left in its place. Not a lock I didn't know where the key was. Not a support beam that couldn't hold me. It was a haven for my perfect ending.