Eyes are the window to the soul.
I want someone to look into my eyes and see how much I'm suffering. How much I hate myself. How much I want to fucking end it.
Everyday there are more scars created on my arms and legs and every time I look at them, I wonder why I hadn't dug deeper. Why haven't I sliced the vain that keeps me alive as I await the sweet, soothing voice of death.
Death. I've been thinking about that often. When we die, what happens?
I like to think that there is an afterlife or we just get reincarnated. But no one really knows.
What awaits me after I end it. What will happen to me?
Will people cry when they see my dead body hanging from the ceiling or in the bathtub, surrounded by my own blood or on the floor, surrounded by pills that were supposed to make me NOT depressed?
I don't know.
Everything is pointless. In the end we're just going to die so why not end it my way?
The only reason I haven't done anything yet is because I care what people think.
What would the people at school think when they find out I killed myself?
Would they be shocked? Would they cry? Would they just shrug and carry on? WHAT WILL HAPPEN GOD DAMMIT?!
This has been getting to me lately. It has NOT been fun. At all. I don't understand why I'm so hesitant. Is it that I really don't want to die?
Is it that I don't want to leave my friends?
Is it that I don't want my little sister to have to explain to people that she only has one sibling because the other one killed themself?
Or maybe it's because I wouldn't be able to stand making my mom that sad.
I just don't know anymore.
