I don’t know how to live the “right” type of life. To me, living hurts. Dying is simple. To die, all you have to do is stop. To live, you have to do everything. Somebody told me that every breath you take is a choice. If that’s the case, I’m going to stop breathing. That’s my choice. To be or not to be? I choose to not. I’m tired of living. I have chosen how I want to go; I just need a place and a time. I’m waiting but we’ll see. I know that nobody should want to die, but I do. That’s what I want. I’m sorry to those who can’t relate to these feelings but somebody has to relate…right?
As far as death goes, I’m not scared. I’m not afraid to wake up in Hell. I will just simply take too many of my anti-depressants and slip into a deep sleep. I will pray that no one will find me until I’m already gone. But we’ll see. I hope my plan becomes final one day. I also hope that the people in my life that I care about will learn to accept it. People die everyday. Everyday someone commits suicide. I know that if I do it, I’ll be just another statistic but, if being another statistic finally gets people to realize how I have felt then so be it.
The cuts on my ankle I have made are starting to burn but we’ll see where that goes. As far as that, the cutting I mean, I don’t cut to kill myself. I cut to soothe the pain. Everyone I know commonly mistakes my cutting for an attempted suicide. I don’t see it that way. When I cut, something happens. It’s almost like I’m happy. For that one moment in time I can be myself. The self that cuts. The self that can’t express who she really is in person. The self that is me. It’s horrible, I know but the more people ask me about it, the more I’m going to do it (cutting that is). We’ll see where this all goes. We’ll see.