Think about this:
You wake up one morning, you go to school or work or wherever like you always do, you drag your feet through the day, sad and hopeless. You get home and you see that bottle of pills, or noose, or blades, you’ve been keeping around just incase. You sit down and write a letter, a letter trying to explain what you’re about to do, maybe putting the blame on someone, maybe saying sorry, maybe just letting it out. You then take your pills, or put gashes in your skin, or wrap that noose tight around your lovely neck, and you die. You’ve just committed suicide, you’re gone.
The morning after you commit suicide:
The next morning your parent or sibling comes to wake you up for school, they knock on the door then leave, you never come out of your room. They come back 5 minutes later knock again and then tease you a little for being a sleepy head, giggling they open your door, only to find your lifeless corpse. They stop, stare, their eyes filling with tears, now just pouring down their face, endless tears. They walk across the room to touch your cold flesh, and now their silent tears have become screams, sobbing screams. Everyone else in the house comes running, only to enter the room and break into hysteria finding you there, dead. Gone forever.
The week after you commit suicide:
Two days after your family found you dead, you were on the news. So your school found out. That morning everyone was just going on like normal, everyone entered their 1st period classes. That’s when the principal came over the loud speaker and told everyone about how you have committed suicide just two days ago. The school goes dead silent. You can hear your principal holding back tears. Then everything breaks lose. Your best friend is sobbing uncontrollably; they’ve fallen to the floor, tears everywhere. Your teacher sits down, regretfully thinking maybe if they had given you better grades or been nicer or been there somehow they could have prevented this. The bullies, they are blaming themselves, some crying, some silently destroying themselves. The kid who had always had a crush on you is silently weeping, knowing now they will never get the chance to see what would have happened, they will never get the chance to love you. Your parents haven’t left the house since they found you dead. They won’t speak at all.
A few months after you commit suicide:
Your best friend cuts themselves everyday, they have scars on their arms and legs, covering every one spot of flesh. One girl who always use to be mean to you has blamed herself and hasn’t eaten in almost two weeks, she’s lost 20 pounds already. A boy who use to bully you has started taking drugs to escape the ghost of you, he’s addicted to crack. Your siblings haven’t spoken at all. They walk around eyes glued to the ground, not caring for anything. Your parents blame themselves and sob everyday thinking maybe if they had yelled less, maybe it would’ve stopped this. They’ve lost their jobs. They aren’t making anymore money. The kid who had a crush on you now sleeps around trying to find something to make them feel whole again; it doesn’t work. Your teacher quit their job seeing as they felt they didn’t make any difference like they’d wished to. Everyone who ever knew you was now in a sadness that they couldn’t escape, everyone who was close to you is on a self-destructive path. How long before another life is taken by their own hands?
