You can hear the sound of my voice, grip my hand, flesh on flesh, and if you cut me I bleed, but I am simply not alive. I’ve had suicidal thoughts since the 5th grade when I watched my grandmother die. I dont know why I didnt cry. Arent you supposed to? Planned and pictured every possible way to end it. I’ve done horrible things to people and I know they were wrong, but I don’t feel guilt for any of it. I hate what I see in the mirror. It makes me want to scream and break things. Why am I so different from the rest? I’ve distanced myself from people because they’re better off not knowing me. I don’t feel happy of get excited and I hardly faint a smile. I have deranged, twisted thoughts all the time. Everything I touch turns to ashes. The depression feels like a stagnant high. No matter how drunk I get or how high I am, I still feel my presence overpowering. The alcohol and drugs are starting to lose there affect. I see no hope for me. No matter what I try to do. I may act like I care or that I’m alright and there may be an illusion if happiness, but that’s all it is. Acts and illusions. My mask of sanity is starting to slip.