~If im accidentally rude to anyone in the near future (being like for the next week or too) im jsut extrememly stressed, One of my friends killed themselves and knowing i tried literally everything to stop her and none of it worked makes me feel lie shit and knowing ill NEVER be able to talk to her again is the most awful feeling in the world. Id have gone to her house and stopped her in person, id have hugged her and told it was alright but she lives across the country i couldnt if i wanted to...
So im jsut gonna write and maybe, hopfully just try and clear my mind, if i try hard enough my mind will eventually become numb to it... Sorry i just kinda vented... please dont worry about me guys and i shouldnt be being so personal right now...
im jsut gonna... yeah..
Onward to mail...~
(Ben's POV)
After about two fucking weeks of just pure tourcher at school, pure fucking hell, ive began to get more and more suicidal, Id always been suuicidal, id always been depressed and i even used to be on anti-depressants... i dont know why this is happening i have no idea what i ever did and link keeps telling me to just ignore them, he tells me to block them out and i dont feel my true age anymore because im not my true age and he needs to learn that too.
It doesnt matter how old he WAS hes 15 here and so he needs to shut up. So far hes had to stop me twice from overdosing, once from cutting and he found me, once again, trying to hide by the pond where i could easilly finish what my dad started.
I dont want to be all pissed off at him, i dont want to make him feel like hes doing nothing but his words refuse to reach me because ive alread preconcieved what i hear at school to be true, Im already too far deep in this hate that its formed a barrier that refuses to let anyone in.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I've tried everything, ive tried literally everything and any chance i get ive cut hoping somehow, someway, this stupid invisable bubble can be popped with the blade of a knife, with the edge of a razor... anything. I'd do anything to make it stop.
I found myself pressed up against my headboard, knees hugged tightly to my chest and i was bawling but for what reason. What reason was i crying for? Because of the hate? Because of link? Becaus ei just know no matter how much i try, how much they tried, nobodies words will ever reach me... Or thats how it feels.
Im shaking and i feel sick but i know its only because im crying so much, i cant stop coughing my chest hurts and with shaky shaky fingers i pick the inhaler up off the nightstand and hold it to my mouth, immeditaly pressing the button and breathing in from it. I then take a deep breath and just sit there, the inhaler still to my mouth because i just KNOW ill need it again....
Where even is link... he was just here this morning and i dont know where he went, we had a fight, again, and i couldnt shut myself up... I need him, i want him, i want him to be here with me i want him to tell me those things my mind is convinced are lies and i want him to just hold me...
I need him desperatly but i cant bring myself to pick up the phone, i cant bring myself to call him. I wouldnt know what to day, i wouldnt know how to tell himse how much i needed him. With fumbling fingers, i found myself deciding to wing it as i pulled the phone from my pocket and quickly unlocked it, still sobbing badly but trying to hard to calm down.
Not even a few minutes later i was biting my hand and holding the phone to my ear, waiting.. please pick up, please please pick up.
His voice filled my ear and i felt myself want to start crying more. "ben...?" he asked, trailing off a bit at the end, asking cautiously, wondering if i was even here. I stayed silent, dead silent and i was trying so hard not to cry. "hello?" "l-Link.." my voice cracked and i had to bit myself really hard to prevent myself from sobbing again. "hey are you ok?" "i.. w-where.." i shut up as i started sobbing again and i tried to force the words out "c-come home" I then hung up and hugged my knees tightly to my chest again, crying even harder.
