Confessions of the Suicidal

2

Wrong. What a funny word. Say it. No, seriously. I want you to say it in every variation possible. Do you see it? Funny word, right? But what's even funnier is when it's put in a question.

What did I do wrong?

^That question, to be exact. It can have so many different meanings depending on the person asking it. A friend of mine just asked me. Let's answer it for her, shall we?

You did everything wrong. You hurt me so fucking much it's so hard to breathe and it's all because of you. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. You fucking bitch. Breaking my heart like that. I can't believe you. Stop being tucking happy. I'm not happy. Can't you see that? No. You can't see that. I don't show you that. I'm sorry. I'm S fucking sorry. I'm really sorry. My first male kiss, first big crush, first actual boyfriend, first heartbreak, first reason to die, first reason to stay alive and one of the ones ly reasons left to stay alive is a 12 hour drive away from me and you're sitting there telling me about your hot boyfriend? Fuck you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Just because I'm not happy doesn't mean you don't get to be. Go be fucking happy. I'm fucking happy for you. I'm so sorry. Just kill me.

What did I do wrong?

I started asking myself...

I did everything wrong. I am the worst daughter, sister, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, best friend, friend, acquaintance... I'm the worst. I should just die in a hole. I'm no good. My existence isn't beneficial to anybody. In fact, it's the opposite. It's destructive. I even destroyed myself. Just one more swing of the hammer and I'm gone.

So, you see. Wrong is an understatement. The question is not what did I do wrong? It's what the fucking hell have I done?