At this point, the glass isn’t half empty or half full, the glass is shattered and the pieces are embedded deep in my flesh. I have final “insurance” if you will, I’m just waiting for the right time to use it. I’ve practiced over and over. It’s not a matter of if I choose to make my exit, but when. And oddly enough, having a surefire “insurance” policy helps me through the bad moments, the mere knowledge that I can reliably end it when I choose to do so, when the time comes, is almost enough to bring me peace. I’m playing a sick game of seeing just how bad my life can get before I decide to finally pull the plug. How much torture can I endure? How far can everything crash and burn before I abandon ship? What sick and twisted surprise will Life throw at me next? What will be the last straw before Death takes me into her arms? I’ve come very close from natural causes several times the past year and a half, but through sheer bad luck have survived. I wish I hadn’t been taken to the hospital in my dying moments. Ever since the last incident especially, coming so close to death I could practically taste it, it all feels fake. I already peacefully accepted my demise, and for it to be turned around and taken away from me.. Felt wrong. By all means I SHOULD be dead. The past year has felt so fake. Like time I shouldn’t have. I wonder if I could have refused treatment. Why did people have to meddle with my last chance to die naturally? I feel like that was ripped away from me. The chance to die with some dignity and not by my own hand. Had I been untreated for one more day, I wouldn’t be rambling on like this, I wouldn’t be lamenting the missed opportunity to spare my loved ones the pain of my suicide. It would have been so much easier on them. I wish I could tell them how I feel, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand and would hurt too much. I can’t tell anyone. So here I write the pathetic ramblings of a madman.
Category:
Rants
Shit is pretty fucked right now in my opinion and those who are reading this might not think so if I explain it to you but my brain is freaking out about everything and I think im going to try to write and post when I’m upset and having a panic attack. I’m also just figuring out how the website works again. I used to read on here when I was 12 but it’s changed a lot since then
I’ve lost near all hope, yet idk what that entity is and why It keeps this flame alive. But when that time comes I’ll know I would be free to do anything without guilt and insecurities.
All i know is that this hope holds me here, chained, while oxygen feeds into my soul. The air feels thin. The weight feels heavier. The people.. those parasites. They refuse to understand that we are barbaric by Nature. Crule and capable of extreme physical and mental dangers to the living. Pretending that Light is bright enough to chase out the darkness. But in this world you cant have good without the bad. And Evil always triumphs. Always has always will. Leading the charge in defining the stain we will continue to leave behind.
WE.ARE.FALSE.
It was back in January. Our friends and I were sat all of five feet away from her casket during the service. She wasn’t religious, but they held a service anyway.
I felt like I couldn’t be seen crying. My friends were distraught, feeling sick and bawling like newborns. I was like a rock. I don’t think I cried at all. How sick does that make me? The monster who didn’t cry at their friend’s funeral. What’s worse is I’m now realising I never got to break down like them. I didn’t cry for hours or get comforted by doting parents. I was left alone, by my friends and my parents. Only the day after the service did i indulge myself, and I laid in bed well into the afternoon.
What sickens me is how my school dealt with us. A student had just died, of cancer no less, and all they did was shove her close friends into an unused room, leaving us to our own devices and having a teacher check on us every hour or so. We were given less than a week to grieve as one would expect, and yet on Monday, when the first bell chimed the vice principal tried to usher us to class.
The year head approached me a few days after that. She wanted to assure me that the school wasn’t ignoring us, but that ‘protocol’ dictated that the teachers had to get the school back to working order as wuickly as possible. I don’t want to believe that that’s what the protocol actually is, but it was completely unfair. They had little to nothing to offer us in terms of grieving resources or councelling sessions. It doesn’t help that the one guidance councellor in the entire school is completely shit at her job.
What pisses me off the most is how quickly things went back to ‘normal’. It was fake. A blur of the emotional storm that had actually been brewing for months afterwards. Some school, huh.
I didn’t go to her grave, in the end. I don’t think i would’ve been able. Able to bear the sight of her mother and father mourning the loss of their only child. Her broken family and friends.
I didn’t want to have to speak to them. I didn’t want people to ask me about her. My exclusive memories that shone a light on how much better she was then me.
To this day, every time I get a pain in my leg, I wonder, ‘why couldn’t it have been me?’. I’m nobody’s first choice. My own friends habe described me as ’emotionless’ and ‘wasted potential’. How am I not supposed to take that personally?
I know I’m loved. I know i have people who would miss me and mourn my death, but hell if she didn’t deserve to live more than me. She knew what she wanted to do, she never had a bad thing to say about anyone or anything. She was athletic and spontaneous and caring. And I’m a lazy ***** who ignores my friends when they text me.
I haven’t told any of them how badly I want to be dead. I don’t think I ever will. They don’t deserve to go through my petty bullshit. But more often than not these days, I wish I could just die. I’ve considered slitting my throat at least six times while making sandwiches. I’ve considered going to every shop in town to buy painkillers so I could hopefully overdose and die. I’ve considered slicing my thighs and forearms until I bleed out. I just want so badly to end my life.
I’ve never been interested in cutting. I’ve tried it, but it didn’t make be feel better, so I stopped. Instead, I scratch. I itch my skin until it bleeds, and when it scabs over, I pick it until it bleeds again. I drag thumb tacks over my skin until the point draws blood. I poke bruises and cuts. I always feel like I’m in pain, but i just do it less obviously so I don’t have to hide scars or bandages.
I wanted to die long before she died, long before she was even diagnosed, but her dying just made me realise that it’s a possibility. She’s dead, and I could be too. I don’t fear death. I don’t fear what comes after it. I don’t believe in heaven or hell, or an afterlife of any kind. I know what I’d be getting myself into, but I don’t want to do it during the pandemic.
I can’t quite figure out why.
After years of destroying my skin in times of desperation/crisis/stress, I thought that I’d managed to replace it with better/healthier/safer coping methods.
I thought I had finally started to stabilise.
I should have known better.
hi, my name isn’t actually mary but i’ll pretend it is to stay anonymous.
i’m a 13 year old who is struggling and wants help. i just want someone to listen to my rant.
my parents are getting divorced. i dont really exactly know how to feel but i hate the way i’ve been feeling. ive been using food, games, and music as a coping mechanism. i’ve gotten so unhealthy and unhappy mentally and physically. i’ve had to move to a whole different country just so my parents could get divorced. no one has realized this has been affecting me so much. it’s been almost a year since i’ve moved here. i hate it so much. i’ve lost all my friends. i hate moving. just when my life was perfect, this ruined it all. i’ve never felt this way before.
i pretend like i hate my dad but deep inside i really don’t. i miss him. i probably won’t be able to tell anybody this, so i’m putting that here. this has been extremely hard to deal with and all i’ve ever wanted was supporting friends that’ll listen to me, love me for who i am, and accept me as a person. i’ve lost that already months ago. i just want to be able to feel happy again, even if i’m not able to have what i used to have when i was happy.
all i EVER asked and will ask during my parents divorce is friends that actually care about me. i’ve just been losing friends every single day. i dropped 2 of my closest best friends because they didn’t care about me anymore. they’ve moved on. i have nobody to go to now for help. nobody has been helping me when i need it the most. is that too much to ask for? friends i can rant to and talk to my problems about?
i’ve been so suicidal from all of this and have been constantly writing my suicide letter crying in my room every day. i would’ve been better and happier if i actually had people by my side. i don’t understand why they left me during this time. do they know how much they’ve affected me?
whenever i used to tell my friends about something good that’s happened to me they would all reply with “cool” “nice” and “ok.” it hurt me so much. to think they don’t care if i’m happy or not. same thing when something bad happened to me. when i told my closest friends i trusted with my whole life my parents were getting divorced, they all had the same reaction. “I’ll miss you” “aw its okay” it was more than just a divorce to me. i wasn’t aware my whole life was gonna change from this. my dream job. my future. it could be all gone. i just want all of this to be over. i never thought i would have to rant to an online site anonymously. i’m so sorry if i sound selfish but i’ve never needed help more in my entire life. i have lost people i would die for. i don’t feel like i’m “living.” i feel like i’m just “existing.”
please write your stories of hope. i need it the most right now. i just want to not feel alone. please write me encouraging words. i’m so upset and depressed. i think about suicide everyday.
-mary
Chronic PainCoping SkillsFamily & Friends EffectsGeneralI Will SurviveRantsStories of HopeStories of Loss
Sad and Mad/Mad and Sad
by DovaKitten
written by DovaKitten
I’ve been thinking about things that have happened to me a lot lately, and I have realised that I am stranded, stuck, lost, alone in this world now.
My parents, as much as I love them dearly, have no idea about what I’ve been through, and wouldn’t (couldn’t) understand if they did.
My friends don’t understand why I am not the same, why I am not the old me. They have noticed that I am not miraculously better, even after being given time and space.
The only one who does know, is the one that left me like this, and they don’t care. They just went back to their life, to their family, to their friends and just cast me aside.
I don’t know if the fact that they can all go about their lives being the same, being steady, being them, makes me mad or sad.
Probably both.
Yeah, it’s both.
Hello. I randomly stumbled across this site. Maybe it can help or maybe it its a waste of time. who knows, but here goes nothing.
I am a 30 year old African American male in Columbus Ohio. I recently moved back after my mother passed last month. It has been very devastating to me physically, emotionally, and psychologically (like death usually is from my understanding). I cant sleep well, I have to force myself to eat, and many days I dont even want to get out of bed. This stems from so much in my life while on the outside looks as though I’ve achieved much, I feel like a fraud and a failure. I quit my job in NY once Covid happened since I was so miserable. Every day was like waking up in another nightmare to go to work. I made great accomplishments there, made “friends”, became a mentor for the firm’s prestigious internships in the country, lead a team unofficially, and generally had admiration, respect, and power. Once things outside of my control, I lost all of it and was essentially seen as yet another grunt once again. However, even at the peak of my career, I was completely unhappy. Sure I had friends, but I had no one to talk to about what really was bothering me: my lack of a significant other, my lack of life’s purpose, and the recurring nightmare I had about my mother since moving to NY. I am a gay black man who doesnt subscribe to your typical LBGTQ+ culture. I tend to see things differently, and it kept/keeps me ostracized from everyone. What also didnt help was fearing for rejection simply because of my skin color or having someone only like me for it. I know love takes a long time to develop, but it would have been a huge help to have someone that I could share all of my struggles with intimately as they do the same with me. I see many gay couples who are just so happy either married or have boyfriends and it pains me so much that I dont have the same. Even my straight friends have someone in their lives like that if they’re not parents. I tried to write it off as “it will come eventually” or “it will come when you stop searching” or whatever else they say about finding love; however, the pain of loneliness just kept getting to me. Feeling like I had nothing, no one to take those random walks outside with, no one to share the stupid moments with (the ones where you just do things just because that serve no real purpose). Obviously holidays were the worst so I cut off my social media so I didnt have to see it from others who were happy. It broke me mentally as I that surely by now I would at least meet one guy that I could be happy with. Even at work, everyone kept speaking of their wonderful families and children and whatnot. I buried that pain inward and tried to be strong. I buried myself in my work and alcohol as an excuse for not having a personal life with anyone. I had even contemplated suicide partially because of it. Regardless of where I went to socialize and mingle with new people (bars, clubs, museums, theaters, botanical gardens, you name it) there was not one person who was single and emotionally available to date. Everyone had boyfriends, was married, or wanted someone that knew just as much about Broadway and Drag Race as they did. It shattered me so much that I lost my passion. I lost my will to even care about my own life. Sure I had friends to talk to, but they can only help so much. I spoke to quite a few therapists and pastors and they werent of any help or use. Then I came to the realization that maybe I need to find my passion in life. But im 30! How on earth am I supposed to just find my passion when 1) I have to work all the time, 2) I’m so tired after work that I just want to go home and sleep/drink, and 3) it costs money that I dont have. I tried a few different things such as exercising, changing my wardrobe, giving myself affirmations, telling myself that I’m a catch and I will find purpose in this life. I tried learning new skills such as programming and listening to new music I would never have thought of before, but none of it worked. I found myself so bored with it all. This in fact happens with every new thing I try: I end up getting so bored by it since I dont have a mentor or anyone to connect with about it. The things I do actually enjoy such as fighting games, comic books, and pro wrestling have all been riddled with things that made them unenjoyable to me anymore. I dont know how to go about finding my purpose in life. I tried meditation, going to church, praying, trying to go out into the world, and it left me soulless and dead inside. What pains me even more is that I see so many of my friends who had a mentor (whether it be a teacher, parent, coach, etc…) help them find their passion and purpose in life and I wanted that for myself. Everything I and my mother have (since it was a single parent/only child situation) we earned so without any real passion for what were doing. It didnt make us want to wake up in the morning, like every day was just counting down until the day we died. Nothing really meant anything. And now that my mother is gone, I have no hope, will, passion, love, career, or even desire to live. What makes matters worse is that I fear for my life every day now being a black man in America with the racial tension and whatnot and I cant even confide in my mother or ask her guidance (not that she would have known really what to say either). Every day since her passing, I’ve felt rage, emptiness, anger, loneliness, fear, and despair. Like I said, I have friends, but they can only help so much, especially if I envy how their talents have served them well and being my age while mine have just gotten me a meaningless career. I feel like my entire life is just a big joke. I renounced my faith in Christianity since I could no longer take “it will happen one day” or “God works in mysterious ways” or some other preached excuse for why life is horrible for me seemingly but great for others. I dont even have anything to be thankful for (and no being alive isnt enough, whats the point of life if you’re not doing something with it or dont even have a purpose?). Somedays I am jealous of those less fortunate than me since they can be content with doing what they have to do getting through the day. I had dreams of attaining power and status through my gifts (whatever those are), but I have no one behind me. The only person I did was my mother, though she did what she could, she never had the answer for me. Ive interacted with people from all walks of life and no one could help me. I’ve seen therapists, counselors, pastors, and no one has any useful advice for me, which leaves me feeling like God wants me to figure everything out myself. I even prayed to Him every day for 30 years, read my bible, went to church when I could, and still nothing. Meditation didnt work. Volunteering only left me angry that I was helping someone else but no one could help me despite my pleas. With my mother gone, I feel all alone in this world, like no one truly cares about me. Which goes back to why Im so sad I dont have a significant other. Sure, my friends are there for me, but they cant be there 24/7 or even a large majority of the time, and I try not to be a burden to them. I have to stand on my own two feet, but I dont even know how to stand. The thoughts of depression and suicide constantly course through my mind. Things I once enjoyed I dont anymore.
Sorry if this is long, but I had no where else to go with this. It was on my heart and I wanted to get it off my chest. I just feel so broken, shattered, and hopeless. Im afraid I’ll go these next few years to be old and never find the answers I’m looking for
i don’t know why i’m writing here. there is no hope for me. none.
i’ve been contemplating suicide for many years but never had the guts nor the impulsivity needed to do it. all i hope in life is for death to arrive swiftly and painlessly if possible. i plan on jumping from a high building but my brain is so foggy i might not gain access so easily as i thought i would so plan B is the good old hanging, wish i could jump hang myself but i’ll probably fuck it up. i am really afraid of just damaging myself, i especially fear brain damage but i have to do it, it’s the mission of my life. i cant bear another day, not even an hour it seems right now. i’m suffering deeply for the better part of 40 years! my life are not worth living and the pain is sharp and constant i think i have the moral (fuck morality though) right to forfeit “life”. i’m surprised i wrote here. maybe it’s a pathetic call for help but i’m done. if only i would have the balls to follow through with this plan and if i’m completely honest i very much doubt it, unfortunately.
painful and teary,
Jonesy
[rant alert]
I’m unlucky. I can’t even begin to say how unlucky I’m. Maybe I just fuck myself up, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m fucked. I’ve nothing. I would top the school back-to-back in the mid-tests and mid-exams, but then my body would randomly decide to put my life in danger during RE/TEE. I had acute health complications, both physical and mental. I survived Varicella in grade 10 and Enteric flu in grade 12. I had only 30% attendance. Although, I still managed to score 97% (with two 100/100) and 92% tho, I didn’t top the school. That sure was embarrassing — note: I live in India with prying relatives around. It was time for college. I was hoping to get into IITs or go overseas – wasn’t able to do ‘em both as I couldn’t take JEE and SAT/ACT since I was fucking hospitalised again. I could’ve waited a year or so, but I was already running late for I did my nursery classes twice as I was mute. Although I’m now into one of the top 5 private universities of India (NIRF), it doesn’t really make me feel good. Oh, I also fucked up my college – consecutively fucking up my career. Same yada yada, I was a topper and a 9 pointer in 4/6 semesters yet, but my mental health got fucked real bad in the mid that I had to be immediately put in a psych ward. Well, that’s how I ended up with 8 backlogs by not attending the Winter 2018-2019 classes and exams. Upshot, I’ll be a timed-out student ‘cause of my arrears. I can’t as well clear ‘em on time for I hardly have only two semesters left, and unlike other universities here, our university requires us to redo the N grade courses for an entire fucking semester again by paying 6K/course. I thought I’d complete those due credits in the Summer I and II 2020 classes if they offered the courses I’ve N2 (<75% attendance) and N4 (absent to FAT) grades in, but thanks to Corona! No way I’d be there at the 2022 graduation ceremony. No way at all. Unlucky. So fucking unlucky. So, yes… timed-out and no on-campus placements for me. Surprise, mom – The 13-15L you spent on my useless degree is for naught, and your child is a stupid piece of shit, but you already know this. One may argue that marks don’t matter. Well, they sure don’t — but I was only good at one thing, and that was academics. I failed there as well. I’m not jealous, but the people that I helped with almost everything related to academics are way beyond me in life now. They’re all successful. Good for ‘em. But… don’t you think what’s happening to me is downright unfair? I’m just a waste of space, have always been. Everything has gone wrong in my life. Everything still goes wrong. I was born with (neonatal) Jaundice. Cerebral Palsy, Kernicterus, and DEATH were in order. They should’ve fucking let me die but no. 21 years later, death is still playing me. Still alive after all. Why? I don’t know. I want to die.
I can’t be fixed. I’ve come to terms with that. I wasn’t broken, I just wasn’t made right. No ones fault. Not mine. Not my family’s. Not even God. If he is still up there. If he ever was.
I’m just here. A misfortune placed on myself and this world simultaneously.
A festering, pulsing tumor in my mother’s womb, which then became a shrieking, writhing imp that my parents forced themselves to love. It’s been two decades since then. How much suffering have I caused in such a meager lifespan? How much suffering will I bring in my wake?
I hurt myself because it makes me feel like I’m bringing about some small justice to the world. But nothing will compensate for the things my loved ones have lost to me.
I’m scared. I feel like there’s something in me. There always was something in me. I just didn’t realize it until I gained the skills to process what these urges were. Angry, vindictive urges. Revenge for a slight that has not yet happened.
I thought if I stayed in place, didn’t move, didn’t poison the world, I’d do no harm to anyone. But people are not islands. The slightest twitch, the smallest shift of the weight can bring about an earthquake. And even still, something still burns inside. Magma bubbling, igneous rock stewing, waiting to be birth from the land in a fiery display.
I don’t even know why I’m telling any of you this. It’s not like you can see it. Hell, my family can’t even see it. But I do. How can I not. I look at it in the mirror. Every single day.
I’m scared. Either I’m going insane or I’m on to something. I don’t know which one scares me more. Does it really matter though? Real or imaginary: monsters are just as deadly all the same.
Is toxicity transferable? Does it run through the veins of those it poisons, to be then passed on to their children?
Or, is it just a case of toxicity being contagious? One person is patient zero, then it spreads to whom ever they come into contact with?
Or, can the same argument be said for it, as the old nature vs. nurture debate? Is it the environment that surrounds them, or how they were raised?
Or, is it everything and none of it? Bits and pieces of all of us soaked in it, choosing whether or not to let it define us?
Maybe it’s all of them. Who really knows, except toxicity itself?
I OD’d on my psychotropic (/psychiatric) pills in 2019. ‘Twas a heavy overdose and my pills were strong and of very high dosages. I was naturally almost sure that I’d wind up dead. But guess what? I woke up in the morning. Not in a good state at all, but I awoke. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t utter a solitary word. Hell, I couldn’t even see things. I was cold. I’ve a long history of mental illnesses – BD and various PDs, so my folks figured out that I must’ve once again yanked some suicidal sh_t when I didn’t answer their calls. I guess they must’ve checked the locked medicine cabinet to find out that the pills were missing from it, and the lock was picked. They stormed into my room only to see me half-alive, half-dead. I was soon rushed to the emergency room. Gastric lavage was carried out. Ewald tubes were let down my entrails. Cannulas and tubes all over – IV and NG tubes. Oh, did I mention fecal incontinence? Pathetic. That was a nightmare. That really was. I’ve pulled through seizures, tremors, and H(a)ematemesis. You might be wondering why I pulled it again. Right? Well, I was so f_cking desperate, and I was actually dumb enough to redo it. I was that desperate to die. I still am. But only now, I’ve learnt the lesson that overdosing on your pills isn’t a cool way to go. It’s painful. It’s humiliating. It’s hardly successful.
Right to die must be a thing. Assisted suicide must be a thing. (Update: Heard from a Swiss friend of mine that it’s actually a thing in Switzerland — Exit, Dignitas presumably offer the services… Why not here?) I know when my mind and body can take no more. I know how it feels to be so mentally f_cked when nothing actually is wrong in your life (or is everything?). I’m convinced that killing myself will be the kindest thing I can ever do to myself. So, I will not stop you with the lame a_s TED talks. However, do not overdose on your psychiatric pills… or try to slit your ulnar or radial arteries, please. I’ve around 30+ sutures on just my left arm, and I’m still alive. Over-the-counter P500/P650s OD in 2017, and I’m still alive — N-AC treatment. Sucks. Maybe I’m just a loser, but that’s for another post! Good day(?)
Dying is the kindest thing I can do for myself. I don’t particularly want to, sometimes I wonder if I really was a terrible person, I should stay alive. It’s brutal, and the perfect punishment. I know I can do things with my life. I don’t think low of myself usually, I just am who I am. I’m pretty resourceful, I can make things work. Which is why I’m thinking about this. I can make it work, this is the kindest thing I can do!
I’ve never met someone with the same life story as me. Someone who’s had so many unrelated horrors happen. It makes sense and yes I must just have terrible luck, but I’ve only met people with parts of the story, not all of it. Why? One way or another, they didn’t make it. Dead somehow. Because life will just get worse. If I don’t do this, someone else will. I don’t want to die afraid, no one will care but me, but I don’t want to. I want to make sure my cat makes it to the right place, she’s mean, no one will adopt her and she’s getting older and doesn’t deserve to be randomly put in a strange place. Assuming someone got into my apartment soon enough…
I haven’t figured out what’s wrong with me to encourage really normal people to hurt me. Why so many people will attack/assault me. It’s not like I didn’t learn, it’s not like I’m passive, either. I have a voice, I have muscle. Never mattered. I know it will happen again… people tell me this stuff isn’t my fault and no one will tell me if there’s something that encourages others to steal everything from me. Like… okay. So I can’t stop this? I don’t want anyone to experience this, most importantly, myself. Why should I stay somewhere where I will be victim to insane violence? Do we not tell people who are in abusive relationships to leave? This is just life for me. Why can’t anyone see it’s an act of utmost self respect and love? The kindness? To be in charge of a peaceful passing, knowing everything will be taken care of, knowing I will be safe.
(TW; mention of covid, politic’s bs, murder, sexual abuse) Hi, long time no visit
by mranony
written by mranony
The world as of now is in chaos.
And my country is being run by crocodiles.
Politicians threatening lab workers to do 2-3 test even though they’re asymptomatic and negative of the virus.
All the while, citizens who has symptoms has been dropping like flies.
People got arrested or gunned down.
Government labeling University students as terrorists for doubting the system.
Influencial people defending and admitting to sexual abuses.
And half a fandom who wants a child dead. Fictional or not. That’s fucked up.
I know what I put down is heavy. I don’t know where else to put down my demise.
I’m just very sad about it.
I don’t know what gives. I put the gun to my head and get a rush of peace and euphoria that I want to ride out before I pull the trigger.. Then it stops and I go again, yet there’s that urge to ride that wave of temporary peace… It’s the best feeling. The cold metal against my skin, the weight in my hand, the rush… In the moments near death I feel the most alive… And I’m addicted to it. Knowing with 3 lbs of pressure it could all end. It brings a smile to my face in a way nothing else does.
Just because I like to be a little dark does not mean you can criticize me and say I should change.
I embrace this side of me wholeheartedly. It doesn’t stop me from being a pure white lily if that’s what I want to be. Me having dark thoughts doesn’t mean I don’t want to be blessed. Or that it’s necessarily fucking evil of me.
when does it get better?
I’ve been waiting for it to get better and I truly do hope things get better for myself and everyone around me, but seriously I’ve been waiting and waiting around for life to get better… so when does it?
when will people stop leaving?
I know people come and go but all these people seem to do is leave… they’re all like tourists. they’ll stay for a week or so, love it, hate it, and then leave it. leave me.
where can I go to be okay?
why does it seem like everywhere I go, it always seems like I’m a burden? I’m sorry…
when will things finally end?
too much noise…
when will things be quiet?
they say it gets better… but does it?