Where to begin..

I remember when I was younger, how the little things would make me happy. You know, the smallest fucking things, like playing in the mud with my sister, or staying home from school and hanging out with my mom. I wish that I could pinpoint exactly when everything fell apart, y’know? When my father stopped loving me, when the abuse began, when the addictions began, when I become a failure. I got kicked out. I’m only 18. I guess it’s a fair age to be forced to leave your home, right? I guess. I have no job, no friends, nothing. I don’t have anything. And I can’t help but feel like a melodramatic teenager when I say this, but I don’t see a point in going on. Ugh, that sounds so stupid. “I want to die.” Don’t you just feel silly for wanting to end something so beautiful and precious, just because you’re in the dark? I feel silly. I feel silly for wanting to give up everything I’ve done to get here, and giving up on everybody seems so difficult. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by this thought. The thought of somebody finding me, lying there in a bathtub. Blood? Maybe. I’m not one to fancy pain, so maybe not. I want to hurt somebody. That’s so mean. I’m a nice person. I promise. I believe in doing good to receive good, I really really do. But I want to kill myself and somebody to walk in and see my fucked up body laying there, cold. Because I want people to feel what I feel. I want somebody to feel scarred by traumatic events, I want somebody to replay the memory over and over again. I’m such a fucking asshole. I really don’t think I deserve this life, maybe I can try again in another life. Does that sound good?