A locked door, a rusty razor, a towel stained red, a folded note, a broken mirror, and a young girl who lays there dead. Her emotions tangle, and the room begins to spin. She finally lets go of her fake smile, and lets the tears roll down her face as she whispers into the mirror; "I don't wanna be me."
I didn't want to fall back into self-harm, but I did. The feeling of myself slipping away was truly beautiful. I felt the room spin around me as the blood dripped from my wrists. No one can save me now, I thought to myself. Not even Jayce. Oh, my Jayce..
I'm sorry it came to this. I really am. But I can't handle the voices anymore. I can't handle anything anymore. I'm dead, and I have been for a long, long time.
To my mom; This isn't your fault. I've been planning this for awhile, but never said anything, because I was scared of what you'd say. Of course, you're blaming yourself right now. But it's not your fault at all.
To Jayce; This isn't your fault, either. You mean the world to me. I love you. I have since the first day I met you. I can't handle myself anymore, and I'm scared that I'll hurt you. That I'll give into the voices and kill. I'm so sorry, Jayce. I love you.
By the time you find this letter, I will be dead. I promise. I'm sorry I was ever born.
Goodbye.
I didn't think writing a suicide note would be so draining. Physically and emotionally. I felt my eyes begin to fall shut, but I had to have one last look at my wrist. The pool of blood around it. I let myself slip away. I closed my eyes, and let myself fade into the black.
I watched the pictures flash before me, getting more intense. I remembered my dad. His smell. I watched him beat my mom several times. Those images kept coming back. Flashing before my eyes constantly, getting more and more violent.
"Goodbye." I whispered, and before I knew it, the images went black.
