Four years later, I am here; thankful that I didn’t give up, that i didnt end it when i thought that was my only option. I reread some of my posts and i remember vividly what that time was like but to anyone reading, to anyone searching for a sliver of hope to hold on to: this is for you. An overused cliche line i used to hate is “it gets better”, I always thought it was just a stupid expression, a common courtesy. But it does truly get better, it wont be easy and it wont be fast; it takes time – sometimes even four years (i should know) but holding on is so so worth it. See for yourself. Don’t end it.
Why does no one care?
Why does no one see that I’m hurting?
Why does no one understand that to me, presence is more important than presents?
Why am I still alive if I don’t want to be?
Why does life feel like a stream pulling me down? Why do I feel like it would be a lot easier to give up than to keep fighting?
Why can I not be happy?
I guess it doesn’t matter. Because, if they don’t understand my silence, the won’t understand my words.
I always knew I never mattered. So what’s happening now shouldn’t be a surprise.
I had to get away from home. I couldn’t run away and it wasn’t the time to commit suicide just yet.
I hid in the cupboard. Its nearing my 6th hour in here and no one realised I was gone. They sat at the table for dinner without me and chatted and laughed, never noticing my absence. I guess it doesn’t matter.
My father (biological) told me today that he got married. Since last Friday. I didn’t even know he was engaged. I guess I didn’t matter enough for him to tell me.
Maybe he was going to, but forgot because I’m practically invisible to him.
I am insignificant to everyone.
Days like these remind me why I should do it , why I should just take the damn pills.
Days like these remind me how much better off everyone would be without me.
I think its time to set a date.
I think its time I put everyone out of their misery.
Its time to put me out of mine.
I just hope that my absence is not recognised when I’m actually gone. By then, it would be too late. Anyway, it shouldn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter now, it never will.
I dont understand.
It’s become a part of me and who I am.
Without it I dont know who I’d be.
After so long, how do I just stop cutting. How do I stop longing to feel the blade and see the blood.
How do I do that?
How do I just give up what makes me, me.
I’m Contemplating deleting everything I’ve ever posted here. I dont think its relatable to anyone and I certainly dont think anyone is going to be able to understand the shit I write.
If only the past could be deleted so easily.
Maybe I would be different if I had someone to speak with. Someone that I trusted. Unfortunately for me, fortunately for others, I don’t.
But I guess that’s fine. No one ever cared anyway.
I am such a coward. I wish I would just be brave enough to forget about everything and die. But im a coward and I hate myself even more for it.
I wish I could be happy.
I wish I wasn’t a failure.
I wish my mom would stop telling me that I don’t make her proud.
I wish my dad didn’t walk out of my life before it even started.
I wish I was skinnier.
I wish I could stop cutting.
I wish I could die.
I wish I didn’t want to die.
I wish my existence wasn’t ignored by most people, even family.
I have a house, I just wish I had a home.
I wish things were different
But nothing will ever change
So I wish that when I kill myself, no one wishes that I didn’t.
Because if no one cared before death, then why bother after death.
Its what I want to do. I feel like its what I have to do and what I need to do. But, is it what I should do?
I feel trapped.
I just want to let go.
Maybe it would be best if I didn’t.
I am trapped.
I want to do it.
I am so ready, so prepared.
Death seems appealing to me, in a way that I don’t think anyone or anything would be able to change my mind at this point.
It would be so easy, so quick and then everything will be okay. No more rejection. No more hurt. No more tears. No more anything. Maybe, even peace.
But its the fear. Fear of survival. Fear of being in a far worse place.
For a while now I’ve contemplated suicide. I believe it’s the easiest way out. No, I don’t think running away from problems is going to solve them but I do know that after trying your hardest to solve them with absolutely no solution, running is your only option. And after running and running and running you get tired. I’m tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of breathing, tired of existing. I just feel like, if I die, everything will be better. I feel like the minute I swallow those pills or that poison or from the moment I jump, everything will be okay.