Does anyone really care?

You walk down the school hallway, with a look of pure desperation on your face. You’ve been depressed for so long now, you’ve thought about killing yourself. It shows on your face, it burns bright in your eyes that you want to die. Then someone asks you what is bothering you. You tell them it’s nothing, and they leave you alone. But really it’s something, and it’s destroying you. You have failing grades, your family is disappointed in you, and you snap on everyone at the slightest twinge of anger. You don’t know why you’re like this, you don’t want to be, but no matter what you do, it always ends with you screwing up. You start to lose control and you want to hurt someone, but you don’t want to get in trouble so you go into the bathroom stall and you take out the knife and until the anger passes or the pain becomes too real you slice your wrists, your legs and everything else. You pull your sleeves down, you pull your pant legs down. Nobody knows that you did it, so there is no harm done to anyone but you. And you don’t matter so everything is okay.

This was and still is me, for three years now. I never could work up the nerve to kill myself because I was holding on to the hope that I could change, that I’d meet someone who wouldn’t run at the first sign that I was like this. But I haven’t, and everybody has went away after they realized that this was me.