April 12th, 2010 by saraphynde

Everyone tells you when you think about suicide talk to someone.
I called everyone in my phone.
No one picked up.
My roommate is in one room, watching Lost, and my boyfriend in the other.
No one gives a shit.
Whenever I try to talk to them about this, they just turn their heads.
Whenever I try to talk to my boyfriend about this, he always makes it worse. He says he’s going to call a hospital.
What hospital? What are you doing? Really? I would rather be dead than go to a hospital. The last thing that someone who is suicidal needs to hear is that they’re going to go to a hospital. Or that I’m crazy.
I’m crazy, he says. I’m nuts and I need help and I should call a hotline.
Why do I need a hotline when you’re right here? Why can’t you talk to me?
But he doesn’t. He ignores me and watches tv while I sit in my room with my sleeping pills and my anti-depressants and my knives and I contemplate ending this miserable life.
Why can’t he see how much he is hurting me?
Why can’t anyone see how much I need help, not from doctors, not from psychologists but FROM THEM. From my supposed family.
And then this is what starts this perpetual cycle.
If you don’t have family that you can call, what is the point of living?

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