The Story of My Suicide

One second, everything is fine. You smile like it's nobody's business, but on the inside, you are rotting. Decaying. Nothing is fun anymore, and all you can do is smile. No one needs to know what's going on inside. No one cares. There is nothing anymore. There is only the hatred. The lurking feeling that you will never be loved. Nothing you have ever wished for will come true. The realization that you will die without a family, without a career, without a joy in the world. Only pain. Only darkness. Only decay.

There is only so much you can take. Only so much gossip. Only so many rumors. Only so many lies before you snap. You hate everything, even though you don't want to. Even though you know that life will someday be worth living. Someday, things will get better. But you can't wait that long.

The voices say "kill yourself" "you're worthless" "you don't deserve to be here" "you're stupid" "no one has ever loved you" "you are a disgrace" forever and forever you are reminded that you are not special. You are not interesting. You are not worth the trouble. You are trouble. You are a burden to everyone. Everyone thinks life would be better if you aren't around.

What can you do but think about it. Hold the knife in your hand. Press it to your throat. Grip it tight and pull it away again after a thin line of blood starts to drip. Something tells you to stop because you know it's wrong. You know there is no going back. But who wants to. Who wants to return to the life where you are not a person. You are a collection of hurtful names. There is nothing you can do to change it. You are who you are and there is nothing you can do to change that.

But you will never be accepted. You will never be appreciated. You will never be understood. When everyone finds out what you've done, they will look at you. They all think you should have done it. Pressed a little harder. There is no thought that they had gone to far. No thought that maybe you will do it.

You will do it. There is only so much you can take. When you cry because you know that all of this is true, you find nothing to live for. Death is the only outcome that you think will work. When you're dead, you don't have to listen to people. The horrible things they say to you. The names they call you. The tricks they play on you. They don't want to go to prom with you. But you smile when they ask because you think things get better. It's all a trick. A hoax to make you look like a whore. Like a slut. Like a piece of garbage.

You are garbage. You are a slut. You are a whore. When so many people think so, how can you say anything otherwise. Nothing you ever do will nullify people's opinions. People are cruel. People are evil. No. You are evil. You are a stain on society, and you need to be removed.

Remove yourself. Wipe yourself off the map. No one will cry because no one cares. No one has ever loved you. No one will ever love you. You are nothing.