I wish I could say goodbye

I think a lot of people don’t know how much I want to die. But I do. A lot. I try to act like a happy person, because I love being happy. I love Christmas and happy music and dancing and smiling and laughing at everything. I especially love making other people happy. I feel good when I make other people smile. It makes me feel a little better about myself because even though I’m not good at anything and I don’t have a purpose at least I can bring joy to people who do. But sometimes, a lot of times actually, I’m actually very sad. It just comes up from where it’s buried down deep inside and it takes over my head like a disease. How I’m ugly and annoying and slow and stupid and I just bother people and I don’t know what I want to do with my life and I fucked up by going to the wrong school because I did what people expected from me instead of the right path or what I wanted to do. But I don’t even know what I want to do. I want to help people, but I don’t know how to help people, or when I’m gonna get to a point where I can feel useful. I feel worthless and useless and empty, and I think about dying all the time.

There used to be a time when I felt like I bothered people, and no one cared, and I would be helping them by killing myself. But I was scared of dying back then. I wish I had had the guts to kill myself then, because then I wouldn’t have felt selfish. Now, I’m not scared to die anymore, but I know how selfish it would be to end it. All my friends, and my sisters, and my parents, and my family would be devastated. Even people I don’t know would be traumatized; people who would never even acknowledge my existence during life would be affected by my death. Which is fucking stupid. Why do I have to care about other people who wouldn’t give a shit about me until I was already dead. It’s my life. I’m the one who’s hurting and sick and tired of being alive, they have plenty of other people to care about why do they have to care about me? It’s only because I pretend to be happy, I pretend to be someone and they all like that person, but that’s not the real me. It’s a fake happy person who loves life and loves everyone and is just a ray of sunshine that everyone loves to be around but I’m tired of pretending to be happy. I’m tired of being alive. I’m not happy. I can’t even be by myself because at least if I’m with other people or I’m busy doing something then I’m not alone in my head. Because that’s where the darkness is. And when I’m alone and it’s dark and it’s quiet then I start thinking, and when I start thinking it gets ugly. Cuz I can’t pretend to be happy when I’m all by myself. I messed up my sleep schedule because I can’t go to bed unless I’m exhausted. I have to wait until the point where I’ll crawl right in bed and pass out immediately, otherwise I can’t sleep because I’m scared of the thoughts in my head. I’ve spent so much time walking the campus and the beach at night, trying to run away from everything. There’s too much going on in my head it gets too overwhelming. Sometimes when I’m happy I get toooo happy and it starts to be overwhelming. I’ve have too much joy, too much sunshine and I feel like I’m going crazy. There’s too much going on in my head and I can’t make it stop. I get urges to hurt myself. I carve reminders into my skin of how ugly and worthless I am, so I can never forget that I’m worth nothing. Other times I feel empty. Sometimes it’s hard to pretend that I’m okay. But my life is worth nothing. How I feel means nothing. I’m only alive because I could never hurt all these people in my life, so I’ll never actually be able to kill myself. My only purpose is to help these people, and to make them happy because that’s the only reason I’m still alive. So I pretend for them, and I’m happy for them. But I still feel selfish and ugly and annoying, but how can I be if I’m only being alive for other people? I care about these people and then I resent the fact that I have to care, and then I feel selfish for being resentful, and then I hate myself more for being selfish. I don’t want to be alive anymore, but I’ll never be able to die. My only hope is to allow myself into sketchy situations without caring about my safety, because then maybe I’ll die in some tragic accident, which would be sad, but it wouldn’t be as bad because I didn’t do it. Or maybe all my bad habits will damage my body and make me die sooner. But until then I’ll never be able to die. So i’m stuck here just pretending I’m not sick of being alive.