Looking back, I can see what I did. Was it the right choice? No, probably not. I should’ve stuck with what Mom told me to do, now look where I am. Narcissistic bullshit got me to where I am now, I should’ve tried harder in high school. Why did I drop out of college? Why did I fuck up my life?
These were my last thoughts as I prepared to commit suicide. Mentally draining all feeling from my body, I become numb. I become numb with the fear of how people will see me after I’m dead – I know that my mom is gonna be sad, so sad. This is in no way a final grasp for attention, or a grasp for acceptance. Everyone accepted my decisions in life, but I swear to fucking god, the one thing I lack is initiative. I should’ve tried, but I didn’t. I had average grades in high school, nothing major. Really fucked up my life.
I glance at the utility knife that’s going to fuck me over for the last time; then I look back down at my forearm. The veins are bulging out because it’s so fucking hot in my house, can’t even afford damn A/C. I tell myself it’s the perfect time for this, there’s nothing to stop me now. I pick up the red utility knife, slide out the knife and press its tip against my arm until a bead of blood forms. Pushing the tip deeper into my bare flesh, I lose myself in the crimson that continues to flow out. Seeing all my failure, I swiftly jerk the knife straight towards my heart, slicing an inch thick laceration all the way to my elbow.
This death is comfort, roughly 5 minutes to reflect on my 23 years of miserable existence. Feeling all the warmth drain from my body as I bleed out, sitting on my commode. Start with the warm happy thoughts, end with the worst moments of my dreadful life. I am dead.
