Thoughts of a Suicidal

"What do I think?"

I think of hate, but that's something for a murderer, right?

Hate, revenge, and erratic love, are the most powerful emotions upon me. But I wonder: if hate is something for murderers, then what am I?

I hate people, I hate objects, but now, I hate myself. Getting rid of your self-doubt, therapy, blah blah blah, all that crap. That shit doesn't do anything for me but make me hate myself even more, for being so in the first place.

Being... suicidal has made me think of things, and now I cry for it, but that doesn't help, at least in my parent's eyes. 

"Crying doesn't help, stop it."

How about you just leave me alone; I know that you're trying to help, but I cope with my problems in my own ways, so just stop. I cry for a reason, obviously, so don't make me think I'm terrible and weak just for crying. Just stop trying to help, because I don't need it.

 Actually, crying does make me feel better, so don't try to stop me when I do.

"Don't be like that. You're not stupid!"

If I tell you that that doesn't make me feel better, then don't say it.

(To Be Continued)