Forget about me. ~[Septiplier suicide]

Markiplier's Depression

Mark wasn't sure why, but he just couldn't find it in himself to even fake a smile anymore. He thought he could just move on. He thought he could tuck it away in his brain, never to be thought about again. "Two years.... Two damn YEARS since he.......left." His hands shook as tears ran down his face. He wanted to forget so badly, but at the same time he felt so selfish and mad at himself for wanting to forget the best three years of his life. The three years with his love. "That's not fair!!! HE DIDN'T DESERVE THIS!!" Mark abruptly stood from his bed and slapped a pencil-filled mug off of his desk in anger. It fell to the wooden floor with a harsh noise. "Why couldn't it have been me?! WHY, GOD?" But instead of the death he now found himself craving, the only wound he received from the crash besides his broken arm, was the mental scarring and heartbreak of losing Jack. Now all Mark could do is drink himself to sleep, watching any and every one of Jack's videos in search for closure. Countless bottles lined the nightstand next to his bed. Anything from vodka to beer to whatever the hell else he could get his hands on. Mark crashed his back to the bedroom wall and slid down crying much harder than before. He looked over at the shattered mug, the pencils it once contained now littered the floor. Mark promised himself he'd never stoop to a certain level. "It'll only make things worse." He'd say to himself. But tonight, all boundaries were lost, he was alone, and there was no one to stop him... not anymore. Mark picked up a shard of glass deciding he was just done. Done with this never ending bullshit of a life. He grasped the glass in his right hand and began to violently slash through the skin on his left arm. He didn't care how much it hurt, or the fact that he was staining his clothes and the floor...because nothing compares to the pain felt when you lose the love of your life. Mark finally dropped the glass and breathed roughly, examining his wounds. His skin was shredded and some of the glass had chipped off into his flesh. He stood and turned and punched the wall until his knuckles bled, then collapsed on the ground, a sobbing mess. "End me. I don't want to be alive anymore." he whispered to no one.

He passed out on the ground that night, for he didn't have the energy to tend to his arm, let alone move to his bed.