Unhappy forever

I know how you feel, they think you’re joking because you haven’t done it already, they think that you only want attention, if you wanted to die, you would have killed yourself already… Of course, they’re happy enough to don’t understand the constant need of dying but at the same time, the fear of death. I always have a razor in my room, i have used it for minor cuts before, with self-injury purposes, trying to think about the day that i will finally do the right cut, and how it will feel. And then, the fear, the fear of ending my existence without any trace of what will happen next. You don´t need to believe in a certain religion to be afraid, because even if science tells you that there’s nothing after the moment you die, there’s no way to prove it. The fear of something worse than this life, or maybe a little hope shinning somewhere in the deep, the hope for better times, whatever it is, you finish the day, and then in the next morning you think about suicide again, you go to school and see happy faces, nobody seems to have any problems, you feel alone, you hate your life, you want to die, you get home and the razor is still there, and then, again, the routine of dying a little everyday.