Beaten, Betrayed, Violated.

Sometimes, You're Not Meant To Die.

I think that at some point, everyone hates their life, and wants to be free of it. Then about two percent actually follows through with those desires. About a third are unsuccessful, a third changes their mind midway, and the remaining few leave this world in search of a better one.
Of the people who change their mind, about half of those end up dying anyways, despite having changed their minds. You can't un-pull a trigger. You can't un-swallow a bottle of pills that have already begun coursing through your system.
Today, about half of all suicides I encounter are people who were desperate. People who would change their minds.
Two of my best friends shot themselves in the head. Matt, wanted to die. Alan, was desperate. I was the last person to speak to him, about thirty minutes before he killed himself in the room I slept in for months.
For months, I would stumble upon pieces of brain matter, or flesh, stuck to the wall, a lamp cord, the bottom of the chair that I could never bring myself to let go of.
Did you know, no matter how gruesome the scene, the police only remove the body? They don't clean the massive puddles of blood, the hunks of flesh that fell out of what was left of his ruined face. They leave everything there. There's no magical cleanup crew that makes the living nightmare go away.
You have to suck it up, and pick up pieces of your friends head.
Gruesome images haunt me at night.
Alan, pieces of his face missing, having a seizure, vomiting what looks like pieces of his own brain.
His last words, before trying to pull the gun away from his face? "Fu-" as the gun went off, showering the three people in the room with blood and solid pieces of what can only be described as meat.
Everything happened so fast. There was no stopping it. I will never forget the moment that his death was confirmed. His face was blown off. But he seized, which gave me hope that he might live....
Apparently sometimes that just happens.... There was never a chance. His daughter will have to live without him, wondering what happened to her  Daddy... Why he never came home to get her.
As fucked up as it sounds, I feel more for his child than him. Alan was always troubled, so I never really expected too much from him. But his daughter lit up like a Christmas tree around him. She was a Daddies girl, through and through. And he was proud to be her Daddy. I mourn her loss of the only parent that cared for her. Her mother gave her up to go sell her ass, and smoke meth, while he worked himself into oblivion, staying homeless to save more money. Just so she wouldn't lack for a thing. I'm glad she has her grandmother.

Sometimes, you're meant to die. Your time on this earth has come to an end. Its the turn of another soul to exist in this world.  But, sometimes, you're not meant to die.  No matter how hard you try, you can't escape life, if its not ready to relinquish its hold.
I've tried to "remove" myself multiple times. I've tried cutting (never deep enough), pills (just made me sleep for days. Apparently muscle relaxers don't kill you.), suffocation, and playing frogger in traffic. Needless to say, I'm still here.  The next chapter will explain one of these attempts. The how's, whys, and play by play.
If you or anyone you know is suicidal, cutting, or even talking dangerously, get help. You never know how or when you'll be driven from the edge of your self control. Never wait. You won't know that they're gone until its too late. Most of us don't really want to die... We just want to escape. Our realities are so horrible, we want out no matter the cost. When nothing is getting better, and your heart is breaking under the pressure of putting on a happy front: when you think no one cares, and no ones there: think of me. I may not be your best friend. But anyone, and I mean Anyone, could message me at any time of the day, or night. I would answer, and I care. As long as there's one person in your corner, you aren't alone, and someone cares about what you have been through. Big or small.
I won't pity you. In fact, I'm told I can be a huge bitch. But I will let you talk. I will listen. I don't judge. If you don't want to go get help in the form of a doctor, come to me. Or a friend. Although, I've got two college credits in psychology, so I might be the better choice lol.