The Diary Of A Dying Girl

Entry 1

April 3, 2016

Dear Diary,

My 17th year of existence. Yes, it's my birthday. And exactly my 3rd year of suffering. Diary, I know you have been enduring for so long. Listening to my foolish rants and my shallow problems. And I would like to thank you. For listening and enduring. I know I'm actually talking to an inanimate object, I mean 'an' object. But I don't care if it's weird. Especially because you are the only one I can talk to. Literally. Today, I had my 6th cut for the month. I'm not celebrating or anything. But that's this month's sixth attempt to actually end my pain. Of course, it didn't do much. What's more, I don't feel any sting from that blade anymore. I feel like I'm sinking into the abyss more and more each day. The feeling in my chest gets heavier each day. And that feeling of isolation haunts me more and more as the days pass. The tears I shed everyday doesn't seem to ever tire out. My eyes just doesn't give up. I mean, I don't want to cry anymore.

I wrote and wrote.

What I want to do is to actually end all of this. Maybe... die? I consider that a better option that living this bitter life and continue to endure a lifetime of pain.

Tears damping the papers of the diary I so much treasured.

I just don't know anymore how this all started. Oh, I remember, he died. Yes. I cursed life when he died. Doing everything in my power to finally join him in death. But heavens was so cruel. They just won't let me die.

This is my daily routine.
List everything I did or experienced in this little compiled papers called a diary. My entries are long, and probably containing the same thing. What can I do? My life is particularly just a set of tears and agony.

I just hope you would continue to endure for quite longer. Don't worry, the time when I would finally stop writing all this stupid entries is nearing.

Love , Sam

And that's how it all ends. With my name like how everybody might actually be doing. I'm not sure, in the course of four years since that accident, I never socialized.

I just locked myself up in this little world of mine, called a bedroom. Of course I come out. Only for groceries. Come out of my room to eat.

I'm home schooled, but I don't really welcome the teacher that much. I don't really care.

No social media
No communications, just my parents
No activities
No friends

Just an LED tv and an airconditioner. They make the sounds. And my diary and pen and...a blade.

It's surprising it hadn't had a rust yet. Stainless?

But everyday, I really feel like dying.
And everyday, I am slowly dying not physically but mentally.

And the day is near when I really die.
Because...

Yeah. Because...

I'm a dying girl...