Suicide

I am always speechless. I have no words. Finally I’ve found some and I’m ready to put them together. I’m going to write how I feel. Let’s hope it makes sense. 

I can’t take it anymore. I really can’t. Just building up all my emotions, and giving them no escape. 

I’ve always been happy. Since when wasn’t I happy? I can’t remember why I became sad. I honestly can’t remember when or even why. I just did. I just had enough, you know. Like a balloon that pops. Eventually it cant take all that air anymore and so it pops. Well that was me. I just popped. Damn I wish I was a stronger balloon. 

I don’t talk to anyone. No one has a clue I’m sad. No really… no one. They all think I’m the happiest person alive. But see I don’t blame them because I do seem so happy. I even believe for a second myself i’m happy. Sometimes I am actually happy. But at that exact moment I feel happiness, I feel so sad. It doesn’t make sense I know, but that’s why I’m so confused. 

I was pushed to the edge and I had enough. I didn’t listen to my own self let alone everything else I read on the Internet. I was my worst enemy that night. Well it obviously grew out of hand, and now it’s made me insane. I’m sure you all probably know what I’m talking about… self harm. 
 
I don’t know why I do it. But I just cant stop. I usually do it when I’m angry with myself, or when I just feel really down. I know some of you might be able to relate to this… unfortunately. I think to myself sometimes… am I worth saving? Am I worth hurting all the people around me? Because I know as soon as I tell them, as soon as I even hint to them that I self harm, they will break to pieces. But then I think that telling them could be an opportunity. An opportunity for some kind of understanding. I can explain to them that those emotions they felt when finding out I self harm are the same emotions I feel on a day to day basis. Even when my day is going great.
 
I want to tell someone. Anyone. And because I can’t build up the courage to tell anyone I know, I’ve decided I will post it on here. For someone to read, to glance at or just simply to acknowledge it is on here. It’s so hard though. Telling anyone in my life and even you is hard.
 I want to stop. I know if I get help I can stop. I know help is the best thing for me. So why can’t I do it? I think I know the answer. I believe that if I say something I’ll ruin everything. I’ll ruin how people see me, how people act towards me. But it’s sad because what will actually ruin me is not saying anything… but I know that. 

A word which really describes how I feel and maybe even some of you is “trapped”. It does a good job in illustrating what I feel every single day of my life.
Picture yourself in a square room with no door. Try to get out. You can’t right? Because there aren’t any doors. Well I feel like that. I feel like there aren’t any doors for me to escape, if that makes any sense. So I’m just left by myself to lay in my own misery. But here’s the thing. I feel like there aren’t any doors for me, but I know the whole room is filled with them. There’s a door in every corner, every space imaginable. And I guess these doors represent all my family and friends in my life. The thing is I’m so weak I can’t get up to grab the handle to open the door. To escape this sadness.

When people ask me why I seem upset, why I’ve become lazy, why I’m not bothered to do anything, it’s a chance for me to just say it. “I’m not happy.” “I think I’m depressed.” I get those chances a lot. I never take them, though. But I just want them to know how I feel so they can understand that I’m going through a little rough patch right now, and that I can’t really live up to expectations right at this point in time. 

I know I’m committing suicide. Every time I don’t take that chance, every time I hurt myself, every time I push myself away from the people I know love me. Because ultimately, it will leave me lifeless. It might not mean physically, but mentally. I know I need help, but I know I will not go and get it. It’s the realization that I don’t want to face. The realisation that I’m not going so well. That I’m not fine. That I’m not just tired. That I’m not OK. 
Help is our only way out. I’ve already understood this. I’m committing suicide because I just haven’t accepted it.