July 17th

That’s my date. Other people have others but that one is mine. I’m determined to end it all on that day, but I’m scared that I won’t carry through. I’m scared I’m going to flake like Aysel in My Heart and Other Black Holes. 

I literally have nothing to live for except my cat. But I know Reimi loves everyone so he won’t miss me for long.

I keep thinking of ways to end it rather than if I’m going to end it. According to the psychologists of the internet, that means I have “major depressive disorder”, and I’m a “high risk of suicide”. Who cares though? They didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know.

I tried talking to my friends about it, but they just used it for attention. After I’d tell them something, somehow everyone would pity their new story that eerily resembled mine.

But who cares anymore?

Everyone forgets my words anyways. They make me think I’m crazy because they think I never told them and “I’m making things up… like I always do.” I can understand forgetting words, since that’s how humans are. But how can you say I never said anything when your snapchat says “opened”, meaning you saw my message.

But I don’t care anymore.

I don’t care about trying to be happy, because happiness feels so odd when it comes around for a second. I’ve been empty for so long that the only comforting feeling I have is digging that mental hole a little deeper. That’s the only way I know I’m alive.

I want so badly to die on July 17th. It used to have a much happier meaning, one of love. But now I’m making my own date. Funny how they can change like that.

I’m tired of being seen everyday, but only in the sideline. I want to fade into the distance. I know the people around me will comply, since they do it already. I already feel like a ghost in the halls of my high school, so why not make it a reality? I think that’s logical.

I have no ability to love anyone. I only love my cat. I try to move on, but the only feelings I can feel are dark and depressing. I can only feel jealousy for things that aren’t mine. I can only feel pain that I inflict on myself. I don’t fear punishment because there’s nothing anyone can do to me that I haven’t done already.

And if they kill me?

That’s a blessing.

When I kill myself, I know I’ll finally feel something other than this emptiness. This loneliness. This utter destruction.

I keep asking myself this question: “If I kill myself, will it make a noise?” I know the answer, but actually saying it will only add to me pushing myself in front of some stranger’s car.

I have a list of ways that I could do it. But all of them have problems. “Taking an overdose of pills?” BS. If I don’t take enough, or choose the wrong one, I’ll end up surviving and I’ll have to go through some “suicide watch” in a hospital. “Jumping off a building?” Someone could see me and try to save me. “Drowning?” I don’t want to suffocate. My only fear in this whole thing is surviving (and not being able to breathe before I die). I just want to go out painlessly and quickly. I could slit my wrists, but I might not go deep enough or not bleed fast enough and some stupid person looking to be a savior, not because they care about me but they want recognition, and “help” me. If they really wanted to be a savior they’d just let me die. But people are selfish. I hate them.

I’m ready to kill myself and this is part of my note.