Goodbye..

I want to tell you everything but I can’t because I knew you hated me telling you about it when you couldn’t help me. I needed to vent. I just needed you to look at me and think that I’m normal. I just really needed that from you. There were times in the past when I believed I was, or at least would be, fine. I’d think, “If only it could stay this way forever,” but of course nothing lasts forever. Why is it that every time I attempt suicide I’m saved, and then forced to apologize to everyone for spoiling their evening? Every time I turn around, it seems like someone is expecting me to apologize. I’m not going to. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. They are to blame for the mess that they caused. I didn’t ask to be saved by them only to have to go through it all over again. These red scars that are slowly turning purple are all that’s left of me now. Whether I want them to fade is up for debate. Even though it hurt, I have a want to remember how it felt. I’m afraid to forget the pain because I might also forget that doing it in the first place and not completing was a really bad decision.

They told me to speak to them, to put family first and I tried. But I ended up on my knees begging to be spared so that I could live to see another day. No one ever tells you how much damage a punch can do to you. I always thought I could block it until I realised it hurt less to just receive it. That night as I lay down it felt like something had shattered into a million pieces and that each piece was falling into my stomach. It hurt more than any punch in the past. I stopped breathing, and for a while I couldn’t remember how. When I finally did, it felt like my throat had closed up and I was trying to suck air through a straw.

They told me to die. That my life wasn’t worth anything to them. They said that I was a constant reminder to them of a time in their life they wanted to forget. They wanted perfection and I was broken beyond repair. I was beaten, broken and bruised, left to die and yet I somehow survived. I disappointed them further. That sounded so weird: “Kill yourself.” It made it sound like I tried to murder someone, only that someone was me. So, I took matters into my own hands. I constantly took pills hoping that I wouldn’t wake up, made deeper and deeper cuts hoping one would be just deep enough to take me out of my pain. Nothing worked.

Since then, it has been on my mind. Is it my luck? Am I fortunate that I survived? Am I lucky that my life doesn’t appear as difficult in comparison to the others? I might be, but I have to admit that I don’t feel lucky. I’m trapped in this pit, to start with.

They told me that even in suicide I was still an embarrassment to them. They would rather have a dead child than a child with failure written all over, visible for the whole world to see. Every day I was alive, I was constantly reminded that they regretted having me. I’m not entirely sure what a nice person is. Maybe it’s a person who always follows the rules. But you know, you can play by the rules and yet be a terrible jerk. In fact, some of the biggest idiots I know are people who follow the rules, usually because they make you feel like crap when you don’t. If I was to be perfect, if I was to ever manage to become perfect, I’d have to die instantly before I ruin things for everyone else. I knew people were talking, but I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t interested in anything anyone had to say. Anyone can be crazy. That’s usually just because there’s something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?? Trust me I hate myself just enough to do it.

I have people to call. People who constantly reminded me that they care. But all my life I was raised to believe that I was just an inconvenience to everyone around me. I did nothing but cause trouble and I grew up believing it too. Deep down I knew that they were there for me, that all I had to do was call or textany of them, but something always held me back. I didn’t want to burden them further. It’s not easy having to deal with someone who’s on the edge of darkness. I know that feeling all too well. I didn’t want to see the people I cared about go through it. The reason I stopped myself from doing anything earlier was the thought of them getting a call the next day just to find out I didn’t make it through the night. I know the guilt. It consumes you until it destroys you completely. But this time, I don’t think I have enough strength to go further.

As I took pills, I felt at peace. I was uneasy about being alive. The idea of being dead made me feel clear. It made me think peace, peace, peace. It made me happy. I looked forward to it, to the absence of everything. The voices in my head finally silenced. I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I looked forward to dying.

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay and graduate and get a job. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you behind. I hope in the next life I have a better childhood and better parents. I hope it’s better than this life and it’s not as sad as this life. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t fit your expectations for me. I’m sorry for not being enough for you and not being the greatest at everything. I’m tired, tired of all of this. The world’s overpopulated anyway and I won’t matter here. I wish I was able to open up and be able to cry. I wish I was able to feel something but now I’m empty and can’t feel anything. My emotions have ceased to exist and I feel numb. I wish I was able to let my guard down and let you into my life. Maybe it could’ve saved me, but I don’t know how to let you in. I don’t know how to let anyone in anymore. Let me go and be free from this endless cycle.