Stuff to Get Out of My Head

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Proceed with caution, this story mentions attempted suicide.
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"Get out!"
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"Get our of my head!"
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"Get the hell out of my head! "
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"Why won't you leave me alone?!"
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I ram my head against a wall.
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Why isn't it working?
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I need to break something.
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I'm bleeding.
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Did I cut myself?
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"God, why won't you just shut up?!"
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I hate this.
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I hate myself.
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I hate everything.
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I want it to go away.
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I want to go away.
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No, I want to die.
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Help.
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I need help.
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I fumble for the phone.
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I dial 911.
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I give them my adress and situation.
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They don't believe me.
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They say they'll be over soon.
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I don't believe them.
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It's almost been an hour since I called.
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I'm losing my mind.
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"Hurry up!"
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"Please, just hurry the hell up! "
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I break something else.
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It's a photo.
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Another hour has passed.
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My eyes are closed so that I don't have have to see the static.
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I'm still bleeding.
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I rock to the rhythm of the noise in my head.
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The pain is agonizing.
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I can't concentrate.
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I can't think.
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Everything is replaced with that sound.
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I stop rocking.
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Moving makes it worse.
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It's been three hours.
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Three whole hours since I called.
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I'm in the kitchen now.
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I examine the knives.
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I take the sharpest one.
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I hear sirens.
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It's too late.
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I press the blade to my throat.
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The cool metal feels weird against my skin.
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Someone rings the doorbell and yells.
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I make up my mind as they beat down the door.
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I press the blade up and in.
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I feel blood,  my blood, trickle onto my hands.
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I drop the knife.
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I drop to my knees.
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The last thing I hear is shouting.
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I drift into a black voids.
Bli-
It's done.

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THIS STORY IS HEAVIER THAN I WANTED IT TO BE
I DIDN'T SET OUT TO WRITE AN ENDING LIKE THAT
OH BOY

Also, I apologise for chapter three being all but present, I've been busy with school and many other problems with myself and in my life--