I am sitting in my room. But that is not the point. The point, not that it matters either, (does anything matter? What are we doing here?) is that, I am tired. I am tired of this headache. It won't stop. The world won't stop spinning. I am isolated, aren't I? And why wouldn't I be, with the way things have been?
The way things have been is not good. I am not looking forward to anything— to college, to the internet, to food, to tomorrow. I am only hiding under the pretence that I am. Tell me, why am I here? If I killed myself, would anything change? I won't ruin a lot of lives by taking my own, would I? I think my parents would be the most devastated by my death, but the devastation would pass over time, wouldn't it? I hope it would, because I am tired of living.
It's an oxymoron— the word 'living'— because I am anything but. Is life waking up every morning and looking forward to going back to sleep? Because if that is what life is, I don't want it. If I could trade my life with a dying person who wants to live, I would do it, in a heartbeat. I don't mind going back to where I came from— from nothing. I was made from nothing; I am nothing still. What does one little life like mine matter in a planet of 8 billion people? Besides, I am an adult now. I am nineteen. I am older now. That changes everything.
Hey, guess what? I want to slit my wrists. I want to shot myself in the head— anything to make the thoughts stop... anything to make the headache stop. I cannot rely on anyone else. No one can make me better. Everyone is busy being jealous and petty. And that is good for them. But that is not good for me. Hey, I want to die. I want to split open my head with a chainsaw. That would be an amazing way to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. Make the thoughts stop. Make the thoughts stop. I don't want to think. I don't want to think. I don't care about your opinion. I don't care about your politics. I don't care about your religion. I don't care about your viewpoint on anything. I don't care. I don't care. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Make it stop. Make it stop. No one. No one. No one. No one. I am nothing. I am nothing. Knife. Knife. Blood. Wrists. Won't kill me. But I want to kill me. Death. Death. I want death. My death. I should die. I should die right now. I am done pretending to give a shit about anything. I don't care. I am tired. I am tired. I want to bang my head against a wall and crack open my skull. Will that make the thoughts stop?
Can anything make the thinking stop? Stop it. Stop it. Give me a chainsaw. I should die. Death. That sounds amazing. Death. Death. Death. Death. I want to die. Hey, listen. I am ready. I am ready to die. Yes. I am ready. It will happen soon. It will. It has to. There is nothing after death. I wish there was an afterlife— or an illusion of one. I want to be in Heaven. I wish Heaven were real. If Heaven were real, I know everything would be alright. I wish God were real. I wish Heaven were real. Why isn't Heaven real? Hey, why are people so mean? Hey, why am I like this? Hey, why? Why? Why? Why? Hey, tell me, what is the price of suicide? I know it is not much. My loved ones will get over it soon. I know of it. Hey, why do people tell you they care but abandon you the minute they think you are doing brilliant? They don't ask you if you are doing brilliant. Hey, guess what? I am crumbling down. I am falling apart. I hang onto this world by a single thread. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive. This is all my fault. I want to kill myself. What am I doing here? What? What? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I WANT TO KILL MYSELF. KILL ME. DEATH. GIVE ME DEATH. SPLIT OPEN MY SKIN. LET THE BLOOD FALL ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I WASN'T BORN TO LIVE. I WAS BORN TO DIE. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME.
The way things have been is not good. I am not looking forward to anything— to college, to the internet, to food, to tomorrow. I am only hiding under the pretence that I am. Tell me, why am I here? If I killed myself, would anything change? I won't ruin a lot of lives by taking my own, would I? I think my parents would be the most devastated by my death, but the devastation would pass over time, wouldn't it? I hope it would, because I am tired of living.
It's an oxymoron— the word 'living'— because I am anything but. Is life waking up every morning and looking forward to going back to sleep? Because if that is what life is, I don't want it. If I could trade my life with a dying person who wants to live, I would do it, in a heartbeat. I don't mind going back to where I came from— from nothing. I was made from nothing; I am nothing still. What does one little life like mine matter in a planet of 8 billion people? Besides, I am an adult now. I am nineteen. I am older now. That changes everything.
Hey, guess what? I want to slit my wrists. I want to shot myself in the head— anything to make the thoughts stop... anything to make the headache stop. I cannot rely on anyone else. No one can make me better. Everyone is busy being jealous and petty. And that is good for them. But that is not good for me. Hey, I want to die. I want to split open my head with a chainsaw. That would be an amazing way to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. Make the thoughts stop. Make the thoughts stop. I don't want to think. I don't want to think. I don't care about your opinion. I don't care about your politics. I don't care about your religion. I don't care about your viewpoint on anything. I don't care. I don't care. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Make it stop. Make it stop. No one. No one. No one. No one. I am nothing. I am nothing. Knife. Knife. Blood. Wrists. Won't kill me. But I want to kill me. Death. Death. I want death. My death. I should die. I should die right now. I am done pretending to give a shit about anything. I don't care. I am tired. I am tired. I want to bang my head against a wall and crack open my skull. Will that make the thoughts stop?
Can anything make the thinking stop? Stop it. Stop it. Give me a chainsaw. I should die. Death. That sounds amazing. Death. Death. Death. Death. I want to die. Hey, listen. I am ready. I am ready to die. Yes. I am ready. It will happen soon. It will. It has to. There is nothing after death. I wish there was an afterlife— or an illusion of one. I want to be in Heaven. I wish Heaven were real. If Heaven were real, I know everything would be alright. I wish God were real. I wish Heaven were real. Why isn't Heaven real? Hey, why are people so mean? Hey, why am I like this? Hey, why? Why? Why? Why? Hey, tell me, what is the price of suicide? I know it is not much. My loved ones will get over it soon. I know of it. Hey, why do people tell you they care but abandon you the minute they think you are doing brilliant? They don't ask you if you are doing brilliant. Hey, guess what? I am crumbling down. I am falling apart. I hang onto this world by a single thread. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive. This is all my fault. I want to kill myself. What am I doing here? What? What? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I WANT TO KILL MYSELF. KILL ME. DEATH. GIVE ME DEATH. SPLIT OPEN MY SKIN. LET THE BLOOD FALL ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I WASN'T BORN TO LIVE. I WAS BORN TO DIE. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME.
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