I tried to commit suicide two years ago. Well, the policeman who picked me up was asking me, worried, why I had done it, and I was actually thinking, "Oh, at least he says I'm pretty," because he kept repeating, "Pretty, why did you do it?" while I was bleeding out. Well, I think about him now because he's one of the many policemen who patrol my neighborhood (I don't live in a gated community, but in a quiet, safe one with really cool people, anyway). So when I go out to shop or for a walk, I see this policeman driving his patrol car slowly. He's been greeting me a few times, but yesterday he stopped the car and asked me how I was and if I was feeling better. He said he knew it happened a long time ago, but he was still glad to see me alive, even though he had the same unfriendly face. Then he told me I looked very pretty, and it devastated me when he called me a kiddo and shook my hair.