Watching Myself Fall Apart

Shortly after you read this article (and I’m done writing it), you will not see a single reply from me on this website.

Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s any article of dissuasion or persuasion that will change or affect how I view this. It’s just over. Done.

I’m tired. I’ve been trying to put up a fight every day. It’s not even a commendable fight. I’m not fighting against soldiers, diseases, or gangs. I’m not cleaning my room. I’m not working even though everyone thinks I am.

I’m drinking. I’m smoking. I’m telling everybody I’m okay when I know I’m not. I don’t know if I -want- this because of attention or because I’m a flat-out failure. No one has my back anymore, and the girl I fell in love with thinks I’m a joke and I’m completely selfish. And she’s right. I’m selfish. I am not committing suicide as an act of violence, but as a statement.

I’ve been scrutinized and looked at like I’m a freak my entire life. Nobody will come out and say it, so the only way I can is to face these demons and expose you them. I’ve done rather bad things. Dirty things that I don’t think are objectively despicable – but things I think any of the people I know will cast me off as an outcast for. This is how I believe it to be, and I think it is true.

It hurts to be a real freak. Everyone treats you like you’re a mediocre pile of shit. Not a pushover “I-can-mess-with-you” pile of shit, but one that people actually value for competence and reasoning. Clearly, I have ill will and poor reasoning skills (which is why I pull the trigger in the first place). But when you bleed for somebody, when you admit to your wrongdoings and face your demons in the real world and expose them to others, when you just aren’t being taken seriously – it’s bad. You can’t stop the dark thoughts.

I can’t run away. I’ve done everything. I’ve listened to doctors, preachers, the old, the young, family, friends, loved ones, business executives, medical professionals, psychiatrists, counselors. They all say “normal.” No. There’s nothing normal about wanting everybody to die. There’s nothing normal about cutting your arms out of the pain of isolation and arrogance. There’s nothing normal about seeing your head laid down on a train track and crushed under the weight of freight. Nothing is normal about what I feel.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see many different things, but I especially see myself sometimes. That proud young kid that once had a lot to say, that felt the love from everyone, living in a world less knowledgeable about the persecution of indifference. I remember how color felt. I remember warmth and feeling the love between another person as real as myself. I remember touching the lips of the angels, even if it was for only a short time.

They’re gone now. I let myself go. I let everything go. I am going to die and there is no escape. Nothing anyone says is saving me and I need help. I’m so helpless though that I won’t accept any help. I just keep screaming that I need nobody’s help. I can’t stop screaming.

I turned my phone off, and I wish I could survive. This will stand as my testament that help is always waiting for somebody like yourself and even myself. But I don’t like help… and this is what happens.

Thank you.