This Little Book of Mine

Truth

{originally posted on my Wishbone acc.}

I know what you're thinking.
You think I want attention.
So you ignore me, or groan and roll your eyes whenever you see me post something depressing.
You've done it at some point. You've thought it at one point.
Don't lie.
Lying makes it worse.
But if I were, let's say, a different person—someone more famous on social media, or maybe even a real life celebrity, of course everyone would care.
No one cares unless it directly affects them.
They say depression is like you're drowning, except everyone can see you.
It's true. Most people, even when they see the signs, don't reach out to help.
Or if they do, they don't do it enough.
They give up. They give up on me, on us.
So why shouldn't I?
If I don't want to do something, I shouldn't have to do it. (I.g. Breathing)
Not like you'd care.
You don't. And you never did.
I'm willing to bet that you will only care if and when I'm actually dead.
You'll treat it as a horrific tragedy.
You'll post about it, those stupid reposts, saying how I should not have killed myself.
Saying how I didn't deserve it.
Saying how much you loved me.
Because if you don't, you'll look like a horrible person.
Gotta follow the crowd, am I right?
You will turn this into a romantic, bullshit excuse to make yourselves look good.
You will then offer help to your followers, saying how you will always be there for them.
Beg them to never kill themselves like I did.
But why weren't you there for me?