I want to die

I hate myself. I hate myself so much. I want to die, truly I do. I dream of plunging a knife into my gut and slipping into ethereal darkness. My brain delights in torturing me and I just don’t want to go on like this. I’m trying to help myself, but I am relapsing. My friends wouldn’t be able to help me, and I tend to think none of them would understand where I come from. My friend made a comment about overdosing on pills and a someone she hated, and I said ‘it’s not easy.’ A hint into my hidden past. She just called my name and when I didn’t reply she spoke in the small, wavering voice of a terrified child. I looked up and laughed, playfully slapping her on the arm.
They can’t talk me through this, and my family is out as an option. So here I am, documenting these self destructive thoughts to keep me from doing something else astronomically stupid.
My dreams have become nightmares. I’m not sleeping well. I’m trudging on in vain hope that things won’t go bad, that my secrets will stay in the dark, but everyday I fear the light that creeps closer. I’m afraid.