You don’t need to read this, but I need to write it.

I HATE THIS. I feel so many things, and at the same time I feel nothing. I spend part of my day believing that everything will turn out alright, and I spend the other part wondering how I can even fathom waking up tomorrow. I’ve managed to turn my life upside down (feel free to have a look at previous posts for something of an explanation, if you really care). I’ve hurt one of the people I love and need most. Not that she knows how much I need her in my life. She said I keep too much to myself, that I’m too secretive. I know I keep a lot inside. I bury it, in fact, and I know it’s unhealthy. But people have let me down time and time again and I don’t know how to open up to them anymore. Ironically, she’s the first person I’ve allowed myself to really trust in a long time, and that means a lot. I told her more than most, but I guess it’s still not enough. All the while I was leading my little double life, and now everything has come crashing down around my shoulders just like I anticipated it eventually would. She says she won’t forget, but she’s forgiven me. I believe her, but that isn’t enough because I can’t forgive myself.

I’m rambling. There are just so many things in my head I don’t know how to say them all. I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m disappointed. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the way she’s going to look at me when we go back to school in two weeks. I’m afraid that I’ve gone and ruined everything, and most of all I’m afraid I won’t be able to fix it. I’ve been here before and it’s miserable. I know perfectly well that some things can’t be fixed. You can put a band-aid on it but it’s still there. I’ve lost one friend to this and I’m not emotionally prepared to lose another. I have enough ghosts in my past.

So yeah. There’s suicide. I’ve contemplated it before, and here I am again. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty much something that’s always hanging out in the back of my mind. I’ve practically desensitized myself to it altogether. I don’t set much store by religion. I believe in some sort of God, but I don’t bow down to anything. However I was brought up Catholic (I flat-out refused to be confirmed in high school and it all pretty much ended there) and while I’ve left most of it behind there are a few things I can’t quite shake, try as I might. One of them is the notion that suicide sends you straight to hell. I don’t believe in a literal hell with fire and brimstone and what have you, but I do think there’s something more miserable than life. Or perhaps we just have to relive the same life over and over again until we manage to get it right. Who knows? I think about this sort of thing too much, and honestly I think it’s the only thing keeping me around. If somebody told me, “I promise that if you take you’re life you will go someplace better,” I’d do it.

In short, my little bubble of a world is in shambles. I’m still young and I know I have so much potential in me, but the weight of all that potential is crushing. I just want to set it down. And every night I fall asleep thinking about what everyone would think if I did. They’d wonder what drove me to it. I imagine all the things they’d find. I picture them reading my journal and realizing all the things I couldn’t tell them. They’d realize I’m not who they thought I was. And I wonder if maybe I should destroy it if I decide to go through with it, just to preserve their image of the happy girl I’m supposed to be. But that’s the other thing about suicide that stops me: you don’t get to take it back once you’ve done it, and you don’t get to see what happens once it’s done.