Created By Idle Strangeness

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It's a weird thing to think about suicide as annoying. Sure, sad, tragic, even horrifying are easy enough words to associate with taking one's own life. But annoying? Probably proves there's something wrong with me. As if wanting to commit suicide wasn't enough of an indicator. It's funny, really. I'd be walking along down the street having a normal day then bam! I couldn't stop thinking about jumping into on coming traffic. And then it's there. It's in my head. I want to kill myself. Well gee, subconscious, thanks for the reminder. I really needed that.

Today though, that was a little different. Cause sometimes the thought jumps out of nowhere, and other times it gets triggered by something. It was being triggered now as I stood in this stupid clearing in the middle of the woods. Which was really dumb because if anything should have triggered it today, it should have been when I walked into school earlier. This most annoying of days was the first day of my senior year. Whoop dee doo. The sick thing, like really sick too, was that when I was walking in the building I couldn't stop myself from thinking Hi Frank. It was involuntary, I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't. That should have been a trigger, but no. Taking that knife out of my pocket and putting it to good use hadn't even crossed my mind.

Instead, I ran to the nearest bathroom and threw up. That was fun. I hadn't even wanted to come to school today because if I went to school, I'd have... feelings. Stupid, cold, skin shivering feelings. It was those feelings that had driven me to losing my breakfast in the toilet. But that was okay, my mom had burnt the eggs anyway.

I left the bathroom and before I'd even gotten halfway down the hall, I knew that I'd been put on some kind of watch list. The teachers all stared at me as I passed by their posts. They weren't even trying to hide the fact they were watching me. It wasn't like it was a big deal people! I was diagnosed as clinically depressed over two years ago, but one psych evaluation suggesting I might do myself harm and it's all shock and panic! What did I have to be depressed about anyway? It's not like I couldn't make any friends no matter how hard I tried. Not like I was being bullied every single day. Not like the teachers were ignoring it and denying it(stuff like that never happens, right?). Now the word suicide had appeared, suddenly all people want to do is "help." I've often wondered if they knew their version of help made it all worse.

Not Frank though. He didn't try to help. Which actually probably helped more than anything else could. Him not being there, it made me want to break down and scream. Maybe that made me crazy. Everybody else there didn't want to scream. As I sat through my first few classes no one acted different, no one was sad. They didn't even notice he was gone. And why should they? Frank didn't fit in. He was weird and depressed. But then again, so was I. The knife in my pocket was proof enough of that. Even before I started carrying the knife, before I was alone, I knew I was messed up.

But I was never as bad as Frank. Now that hot dog(get it?) was way past any point I could ever get to. He was clinically depressed too(in case that wasn't already obvious). But the guy hid it well. He always seemed happy, smiling. I always thought he was awesome, somehow being able to have a good time no matter what. But to be clear... well... how to put it delicately? The guy was fucking bananas. He didn't like greetings because they meant human interaction was expected. He didn't like saying goodbye because it meant he would have to meet that person again another day(no idea how he got to that conclusion). Not only that, but excess goodbye-ing lead to possible greetings(apparently). And that was something he wouldn't stand for. When I couldn't take it anymore I asked him how I was supposed to even say hi to him. He told me to do it in my head. It became a habit for me to think Hi Frank whenever I walked into school, whether Frank was there or not.

Like I said, crazy. And sure, there've been plenty of moments where my mental state wasn't exactly definable as healthy(yay for suicidal thoughts). But Frank was, like, making-a-whole-new-kind-of-cake-batter crazy. He didn't like to be touched not because he had something stupid like germaphobia, but because the feel of other peoples skin freaked him out. He didn't like to make eye contact because, in his words, he had no interest in being hypnotized(not because of losing control, but because his greatest fear was being forced to act like a duck). He wouldn't eat healthy because according to him, we were all doomed anyway, so you might as well enjoy the ride while you could. That's something you learn quick, being a crazy.