Surely I Won’t Go to Hell…

Since I keep coming back here, I have to throw in my cent and half. I’ve noticed a couple of things, before I go into my horrible depths of self-pity… First, I thought I was the only one who wrote with proper grammar. Gosh, does it sound horrible that I would notice such a thing when I’m low enough to even be on this website? But honestly, I’ve barely known what people were talking about when I’ve read other forums on random things. Please, any grammar dorks on here, go to yahoo! answers with a red pen and you’ll come back satisfied. But I can understand people on here. Going beyond their ability to spell and punctuate, but I actually know what they’re talking about. One guy said, “I feel like everyone got a copy of a manual on human behaivor, and mine got lost in the mail.” I can’t remember the exact quote, but my gosh, have I been there… and it’s just little things. Things like tugging at my clothes, looking at something the way that I look at it (with my eyes, not opinion-wise), cracking my knuckles… What do you do when you’re afraid to look anyone in the eye? I stick to my notebook, looking up at the clock every now and then. I could care less what time it is, I’m just more interested in switching the position of my neck, if only for a moment.

I’m sorry… I ramble. I’m a writer; I can’t help myself. But I guess I just feel calmer, more recollected. Last night, I researched different drugs I could take, and I think I found the perfect one. I bought a bottle of it today at the drug store. Tomorrow in all of my classes, I’m going to write one more good song I can go out on. I really don’t have anyone to write a letter to, after all. I thought I’d try talking to my psych teacher again. He’s been really understanding this year, letting me have my meltdown before class and embarrassing myself during my presentation on the link between schizophrenia and the creative mind. He’s listened every time. My band director used to be the same way, but I’ve made an idiot out of myself so many times, I’m embarassed for him to even look at me anymore. Besides, I think I got to a point where every little thing I did got on his nerves. It wasn’t him, not at all. It’s just who I am, I guess. I’m not meant to have friendships, so I’m awkward and obnoxious. It was acceptable when I was in middle school, but then it was only childish. My freshman English teacher is still there, but… You know something? I still think it’s pretty pathetic that all of my “friends” are teachers…

They would all do the same thing, anyway; turn me in and get me shipped off. We’re not doing that. I would rather do anything but that. I would actually be willing to get help, in every other way possible. But not that. Not that way. I’d rather die than see the inside walls of a hospital. No, I can’t. I refuse to, and I won’t. Of course, if my inner voice’s fears are right, and this website really is a low blow to get people reported, I might need to shut up while I have a chance. But people here say that they understand, and I have nothing left to lose. So why not? One guy said he had a gun to his head, and I guess he’s still sitting at home. Maybe doing this isn’t so stupid…

…I bought what I would need today (still can’t believe I’m saying this…publicly…). In my research, I found out that liquid is absorbed faster than the pills, so I got a syrup. One bottle, a drug that will (hopefully, as the plan states) knock me out before I feel anything too harsh. I’ve heard death by overdose is horrible, so I wanted to be careful. I’m not doing this tonight. I’m going to give tomorrow one last chance. I’ve always said, “Oh, I’ll talk tomorrow,” or, “My demise will be tomorrow.” Well, it’s real this time. If by tomorrow, I can’t summon up the courage to tell the truth to someone, if no one sees it in my eyes, if no one can read my blog or my songs and figure it out, then I’m done. Now, please don’t think I’ll be blaming other people. I don’t expect anyone to pay THAT close attention. It was just the most suttle of hints I could drop without coming out and saying it. I want to desperately let someone know, but I don’t know how to even begin the conversation. What would I say? Nothing, I couldn’t say a thing.

I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live like this anymore. I’m more afraid of living than I am dying. The only reason I believe in hell is because I’ve lived it. And I don’t know why God would make such sick people like me and then expect us to just go about our lives. Surely I won’t go to hell for this…