This will be my suicide note.

I know people care. I know that I’m not completely useless, although a lot of the time I am. I know that every single one of you would not expect this from me. As I sit here making this note, as hard as it is and as much as I want to, I can’t cry. I feel nothing right now. I am not scared by my potential actions; I feel no regret in giving myself what I believe to be what I deserve. It is not complete emptiness, though. I feel loneliness, depression, and an overall feeling of shit. Shit for every time I have let someone down, including my parents. Shit for make empty promises. Shit for not putting in full effort when I was a lazy asshole. Shit for every lie I’ve told, even when I lied to myself. Shit for every time I tried to do something, and just gave up because I wasn’t any good.

Nothing matters to me anymore. My grades in school steadily drop. I lack a sense of purpose and motivation. It scares me a little to say this, but I feel more scared of living than of dying. No matter what I do, I always end up fucking up, either myself or others. Most of the time it’s both. Every time I think, “It won’t matter if I do it just this once” I end up screwing myself over. And I always do the same shit over and over, so it’s never the first time. People always tell me to get it together, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I care deep down, I lack the sense of motivation. I guess it just doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happens to myself anymore.

I really wish it didn’t have to end this way. I wished that it would be by the hands of someone else who needs reassurance through violence. Or maybe it would be by some unforeseen, uncontrolled force. Having my life end this way makes me feel like I’m hurting others, and letting down everyone who believes that they care, which I am. I know this is very selfish of me, and I am sorry. Unfortunately, though, being alive just seems worse than death itself.

On top of hating myself for never doing anything right, I just have a sense that no one truly cares as much as they really can. Sure, I have friends, and I have people who treat me well and care, but it feels like they don’t care about me as much as everyone else. Every day, I hear stories about all the fun people are having with their friends and best friends, or how they are spending every minute with each other, or funny conversations they have had while texting. Meanwhile, I am sitting here alone in my house, with no one to talk to, nothing to do, nowhere to go. I have had about three to five different “friends” text me in the past two months. Two whole months. In the generation where no one can put down their phones, and almost every twelve year old has a smart phone. Even then, each of those “friends” has only had one conversation in those two months. And I haven’t even hung out with anyone in who knows how long. All I can say is, “a lot of you cared, you just didn’t care enough”.

Now, why didn’t I just call or text them you might ask? I’ve done that for years now, and over the summer, I decided to just stop. I just felt like I was always asking, or starting the conversation. I said to myself, “Let’s see how many people actually care. I won’t call or text anyone over the summer vacation, just to see who actually wants me in their lives”. About three or four people outside of my family called or texted me that summer. That hurt a lot. Because although many of you may think you care a lot, just stop and think for minute. How many times have you actually thought about me? When have you planned to get together with a bunch of friends, and thought to invite me? Clearly if you did, you definitely didn’t act on those thoughts. Don’t take it personally, though, because I forgive you. It is only human nature to leave out the extra.

Depression sucks. I have probably had it for as long as I have been fucking up big time. For several years, I haven’t had the same motivation or happiness as when I was a small child. I may have always been smiling, or laughing, or happy, or just didn’t seem to comprehend the idea of sadness. That was just me pretending to avoid sympathy. I didn’t want to complicate others’ lives with my sadness, although what I’m doing now is probably just that. I didn’t want anyone to give me pity, to express sadness and understanding of what I was going through. Because unless you have gone through the same, you do not know what it truly feels like.

In the past year, my suffering has seemed to get worse. Whenever I have thought that I have hit rock bottom, or that it could only get better, the earth opens beneath my feet and swallows me whole, plunging me deeper into the molten lava that is the earth’s core. There has been one thing, though, that had seemed to numb the pain. For those who actually have known something about me, I have recently been diving into the music scenes of punk, metal, and screamo. Though many of you might think it, this music is not what made it worse, but it has done just the opposite.

This music has gotten me through many a lonely night, many depressing and bleak days, and many thoughts of ending my life sooner. Through the words and rhythms of these artists, I have connected with feelings and emotions of emptiness, of depression and self-hatred. It makes me feel like out there somewhere, someone is going through the same thing, and can make it through. When was sad, this music would lift me up, let me see what good can come from these hard lessons. When I was happy, this music would show me what I would have to endure if I took that path again, and motivate me to stay on the path of happiness.

There’s my story. I have nothing to hide anymore. I am simply a coward, burdened with the cruel joke of some higher power that is depression. It pains me to write this, for I know that it is near the end. This paragraph will be my apologies. To my parents, I am sorry that I was a failure. I am sorry that I have let you down in more ways than one. I am sorry that although you brought me into this world, it was I who took me out of it. To all of my family, close and distant, I am sorry for giving you grief, including this one. I am sorry for all of the suffering you all must endure just so that I could end mine. I am sorry for not having a stronger will, for not seeing the true goodness in life. To my teachers and school, I am sorry if I have tarnished your reputation. I am sorry for making it seem like your fault this happened. You had nothing to do with my life or actions, although that may have been the problem. To the people that have known me, I am sorry for bringing you sorrow. I am sorry that I could not have been a better friend. I am sorry for making you think that this might have been your fault, which it wasn’t. It is my entire fault, as I am taking full responsibility for once. You have indeed shown tenderness and care, and have taught me several valuable lessons. It is just that I have not received enough understanding and care to continue my life anymore. It seems like everyone has the potential to carry on for the rest of their lives without me involved, so it’s best that I not get in the way. Finally, I would like to apologize to everyone as a whole. For the tears you may cry, for the pity you may show, for the pain you may feel, for the depression you may suffer, for the days of no happiness, or for anything else I may have forgotten to add. The only other thing I can think of to say that explains my feelings are part of the lyrics of “Calling All Cars” by Senses Fail;

“So take what I left you for the pain, and do your best to forget my name.”