It’s just before 12pm. Â I have only just woken up and I wake up today looking at life like it’s a curse. Â What is the point of living life? Â (Not in a suicidal state of mine). Â I lay here thinking to myself how hard it is to get out of bed to get to the shower or to get downstairs to eat breakfast. Â So I just lay here for longer. Â It is now 1pm. Â I have decided to get up and start going on with my day to day jobs. Â I was meant to go out today but I don’t want to leave the house. Â I am scared. Â I am frightened of the world out there. Â I am afraid of the world behind my closed doors. Â This is my sanctuary. Â In which I am still trapped with the demon that lives inside of me. Â Behind my nightmares, endless nights of tears falling, my everyday of pain and the mask I wear; there is a little girl wanting to come out. Â The little girl that was buried into the pits of anguish five years ago. Â Her innocence destroyed, her happiness vanished and her heart fell to pieces. Â Nearly six months ago I met someone. Â We fell in love. Â I was happier than I had ever been in my whole life. Â He is the most important person in my life. Â I don’t want to disappoint him but the person he fell in love with is slowly diminishing. Â I need help before it’s too late. Â They are coming back to get me. Â I see them in my sleep. Â I see them when I wake up. Â I see them when I lay awake at night. Â The darkness holds me close. Â Too close. Â The past few weeks has been the start of them coming back stronger. Â I am growing weak. Â I don’t know what to do anymore. Â I am scared that if I don’t do something it will be too late. Â They bully me, they torment me, they make me feel weak when I’m at my worst. Â My love of my life, you’re my only hope. Â I want to hold your hand. Â I want to escape this nightmare. Â Please take me in your arms and tell me it will be okay. Â I don’t know how long I can keep this barrier up for on my own. Â Every time I try to tell you exactly what I’m feeling, I get the feeling that you think I’m just making up excuses. Â That is the last thing I want to do. Â I want that little girl to come out into the light.
Looking At Life
Often times I wonder how I reached this point. This point of no return. Of an endless repitition of internal suffering. I can’t really think of an answer. Perhaps that means that I was just destined to be this way.
Many different people think the solution is simply, talkingÂ about your feelings orÂ seeing aÂ shrinkÂ or just looking at lifeÂ at a different angle. But they’re all wrong. Because no matter whatÂ people say on the outside, you’ll always be that suicidalÂ kid (no matter how old you are, actually)Â andÂ despite all of the nice things they’ll say, no matter how much they tell you that they like you or that you deserve to live, deep down they’ll never see you as being good as someone else who’sÂ “normal.” In fact, whenever the opportunity should arise, they’d pick a normal person over me and you any day.
That’s just the never-ending rut you put yourself in by telling someone about your thoughts. It’s terrible for sure, but it’s the truth. Especially if you’re a suicidal guy. If you’re a girl, guys will just use your pain to take advantage of you, since it’s an “easy way in.” So in a sense, I can neverÂ really tell anyone about my suffering until after I’m dead, because for every single set of ears that hears my story, they’ll start to feel sorry for me and look down upon me and wish that they’d never found out my truth.Â And I’ll have doneÂ nothing but burden them… OrÂ maybe, have done nothing at all. Sometimes I don’t know which is worse.Â And every time I text them or callÂ themÂ to engage in something else aside from my suicidal feelings, they’ll look at their phone with my name flashing and think, “oh shit, it’s him. I really don’t feel likeÂ dealing with him right now.” And maybe if one of their friends are around, the friend willÂ ask who’s calling and of course, they will say, “oh, it’s this one guy who’s really depressed and wants to kill himself.”
This postÂ is really unfocused. Forgive me for that. I guess I want to conclude it by stating how much I hate peopleÂ who reallyÂ believe thatÂ they can end my suffering by: 1)knowing about my suicidal thoughts orÂ 2)talkingÂ to me about my suicide orÂ 3)knowing my whereabouts or 4)appearing to harbor a genuine desire to help me. In every case, I’ve become nothing more than that “suicide case.” and no matter what I do, I can never becomeÂ more than that. Once a suicidal, always a suicidal.