I want to die. I really really do. There's nothing I crave more than meeting the angel of death. But the problem is, I'm a coward. I'm scared of feeling the burning pain from the knife going too deep or from the the rope smothering me and preveting air from coming through my throat, or from the numb feeling the pills will make me feel as soon as I swallow at least a dozen. I'm scared to feel it because I'm scared to remember it. I mean, what if I survive? Or worse, what if I remember every single detail after dying? All the pain, the hurt, the blood, everything.
I wish I could wake up with amnesia tomorrow morning or hit myself in the head and forget it all. Could've been so much easier to live, to bear the pain, to deal with the people that hurt me, with the demons inside of my head. No one knows what it's like until they get a little baby demon crawling into their minds and whispering evil things to their ears. I don't wish that to anyone, not even the ones that hurt me.
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It's Not Me, It's Depression
AcakJust a bunch of things to help people who go through depression explain how they feel to others, and help people who try to understand that feeling know how it feels. Trigger Warning *Not a story*
