Everyday whilst on the third floor, I look down onto the ledge that leads to the first floor. I wallow in turmoil as I constantly decide whether to jump or not. If I were to jump, I picture myself falling. I would feel the rush as I plummet down three stories. I can hear my bones crunching. I watch as I become mutilated. Deformed. Disturbed. As they call an ambulance, I wait in agonizingly wonderful pain. This is what I get. This is what I deserve. As I go to the hospital, I can almost read their minds. "What else did she do? Do I have to pump her stomach? Not again..." I'm strapped down, like a ballistic prisoner. I'm not going to hurt anyone, that's not what I want. Now I'm in a psych ward. I'll make temporary friends with sick patients. The last time I did this, one reached out to me. I'm not going to give him what he wants. He's dirty. Deceitful. And he left me, abandoned. Once I get out, for the first time in a while I feel alive again. Only to feel "suicidal" in a couple of days. Maybe it's the freedom I finally get, after being locked up and told what to do by total strangers. It makes me want to go there again. I know this sounds bad, but if I were to succeed, all of my pain would be gone. If I don't, then I leave the ward feeling free again, and maybe it'll last this time. I hate that I have to take so much medication. I feel like an old person. My mom tells me I'll have to take them forever. She is wrong. Maybe that's why I feel the way I do, because of the mental freedom I lack. I should be able to decide whether to feel happy, or sad. Instead, I'm emotionless. Numb. I can't feel a thing and that's the reason why I want to jump. Not to end it, although that would be nice, but to feel again. If someone were to ever read this, they would think I'm crazy. Is it really crazy, to crave a feeling I'm not aloud to feel? I can feel the gravitational pull of my sorrow. Why not let it go? I only want to feel again. I only want to feel again. I only want to feel again.
