I lie in bed, low, apathetic, empty. As usual. Like every day. Life hasn’t felt good since I was a child.
I’ve heard people say that suicide will not solve any problems and will only create a new ones. In my case, I think more problems would be solved that created. Of course, people close to me would have to deal with a loss, would have to burry me, which would be expensive, and then they would be grieving. It’s only two people that would have to suffer. I don’t want to hurt them like that, but I feel that me being alive is causing them more pain than me dying. While I am alive, I can continuously create new problems and hurt people that matter to me; I’m like a cancer that they can’t beat. When I am dead, that’s it. They would go through grieve period, finally accept that I am gone and move on with their lives.
I’m in debt because of my stupidity, I sit at home whole day and hurt everyone. I hate people. I can’t do anything. I’m useless. I am a disease. I’m nothing. I shouldn’t be here.