Die a lonely guy ♡ Weekman

05

Monday 💫
Dallon 🌙

It's been 2 days & Ryan hasn't mentioned Saturday at all. I'm really trying my best to not wonder why he broke down, but I've failed countless times already.

Throughout that night he mumbled stuff about his dad, who he wanted to stop hitting him so much. You have no clue how much that broke my heart. I had no idea Ryan was being abused.

I don't look at him differently. Actually, that's a lie. He looks so... strong now. Maybe it's the thought that he's been abused & yet doesn't let that affect him. Although, it's clearly not healthy.

💫

I can't breath. I can't think straight & my hands are shaking so fucking much. I'd be lost without autocorrection right now. I look down to my phone & see a message pop up.

Dallon please respond.

How the fuck do I respond to my mother texting me after 18 years of not even knowing if she was alive or not?

Leave me alone. Please.

Please Dally, I'm your mother. Would you rather talk to your dad?

I don't have a fucking mother or father, remember? They abandoned me when I was a baby.

Jesus fucking Christ. You act like you're so fucking special, when in reality you're a piece of shit who has nobody. I don't regret giving your ass away one bit.

Fuck you!! Elle deserves so much better than what you fucking left her with!!

You know what Dallon. You're exactly fucking right. She does deserve better, considering I left her with your useless ass. I already talked to Elle & she's moving with us.
You're nothing Dallon. You have nothing, or anyone. You're a faggot who's parents left, and beloved sister. You seriously have fucking nothing & no one would give a shit if you left. Jesus Christ Dallon just KILL YOURSELF.

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My body started to shake & I couldn't control the sobs. My body was shaking & I couldn't stop it no matter how much I hugged myself. My wrists burned & so did my eyes & my head was pounding. Tears seemed to never stop falling & I couldn't see or think straight.

My mind was racing & I couldn't stop hyperventilating. I kept thinking over & over & over 'I can't'.

Every thought about my wrists hit me like a bus. I can't stop thinking about what I did & where I did it & what I used & when & how & the blood, the gushing blood & the pain & relief & I can feel all of it at once.

I crawled to my backpack & shakily & messily threw everything out of it until I found my old blade & I looked down at my sleeves.

I can't I can't I can't. I can't. I can't keep living this fucking nightmare & ohgod my mom is sofuckingright I hate this I hate her I hate me I hate EVERYTHING.

After harshly dragging my sleeve up, I made more & more & ohsomore slits into my wrist. I felt a vein break & I yelped in pain, never stopping.

Blood was everywhere & I finally felt no anger. In fact, I felt numb.

Dropping the blade, I laid down still, slowly slipping into conciseness. Silently praying this would be my last breath.