Happy Thanksgiving, Mother Fuckers

I am coughing up blood. I don’t know why or how, seeing as I haven’t even really attempted suicide in awhile, but here I am coughing and vomiting blood. It’s not that I ate too much; I hardly ate anything. Maybe my body is finally ready to die. I didn’t even have to do anything. If I had known that just giving my body time to really fuck itself over would fuck me up this bad, I would’ve stopped attempting suicide years ago. Hell, maybe there is a God. Well, as much as I’d love to tell my parents that I’m really fucked right now, they kind of just yelled at me for coughing too loud and not making dinner fast enough, despite the fact that no one helped me.

Everything hurts like hell. I hope I am dying. Even if I’m not, this torture is enough to make me feel okay about being alive. I don’t know if this is really suicide, but I guess if it’s not making myself die, I’m not helping myself live either, so I guess I’m probably in the clear. It’s not like going to the doctors would help. “What do you mean you’re coughing up blood? Oh, you’re probably just doing this for attention.” Yep. And my parents will believe the lying asshole doctors. “I can’t imagine that anything’s actually wrong with you. You seem fine enough. You’re supposed to cough and vomit up mass amounts of blood. It’s good for the heart.”

This couldn’t have come at a better time in my life. Honestly, I would’ve had to face my future if I lived any longer, and we all know I’m too much of a coward to do that shit. I’ve been hallucinating rather severely lately, and who the hell wants to deal with that? Also, I’ve been pissing off everyone who’s ever been kind to me, so they are not going to want to deal with me any longer. So, God, if this is you, thanks. This was pretty fucking cool of you.