I’ve had a draft sitting by for months. I was going to write about my childhood. I see now that it hardly matters. There was some good, there was some bad.
I googled suicide methods earlier. It’s amazing the lengths people will go to prevent an individual from taking their own life. Has anyone considered that this life is mine? If I want to end it, that’s my choice. Why should anyone else have a say in it?!
Death happens. Wether it’s by old age or my own hand, it happens. Sure, my mom and dad and step-dad will be upset. I imagine my sisters will be too. I can imagine my younger sister, B, will actually be angry with me.
I don’t consider this selfish. I was born with nothing special. I have no talents. I have no skills. I get by every day on lies and manipulation. I have no drive to succeed or do better in life. I am simply a waste. I’m a pastime for others.
There is no reason to tell me otherwise. Of the 6 people who read this, none of them really care about my need to say this stuff anonymously. To them, I’m just another show that they roll their eyes at and wait for me to just disappear. And when that happens, they’ll assume I just stopped writing.
I’m not looking for validity. I just want to see if the darkest things in my head can actually make it to this page before I really give up for good. 12:30am right now. I should have been asleep 3 hours ago. But I couldn’t sleep. I just keep thinking about how unhappy I am. How worthless I am. I spent 3 hours in my dark spot. Thinking of every thing I could to just to make it all stop. Thinking about if any one person I knew was worth living for. None. Not a single one would live for me.
I’m done for now. I’m just going to go smoke then try to sleep. I found some weed I had left. Maybe it’ll help.