On the 1st of December 2019, i posted my last post. A month after, on the 4th of January, i attempted suicide. I overdosed on pills. My parents were witnesses, they found me, apparently dying. For a few weeks after, i thought it was all a dream. Until my father showed the empty pill packets, I didn’t believe him.
It’s been nearly a year since my attempt. It’s much better, I might even say I’m happy. But… I can sense a change. It’s not depression and the thoughts of dying anymore. It’s lack of empathy and emotions. I don’t care about the things I used to be so stressed about before. i don’t care about being alone. I see death as an art. I have changed. For the better. Darker.