Suicide hotline

Chapter 1: Suicidal Temptations

Song: 1-800-273-8255 - Logic ft Alessia Cara & Khalid

Chance's POV:

(Chance up the top)

My hands were trembling, eyes blood shot and red. My lip quivered as the sweat increased to build up all over my body. I didn't know what to do anymore. I was done. Done.

I held the thick belt in my hand right hand, along with glancing over at the kitchen knife that sat lifeless on my bedroom table top.

Lifeless just how I intended to be.

I was deciding how I would prepare and or do this. I wasn't much for blood and I usually vomited at the sight, but using a belt... there wasn't any proper blood involved in this vile act.

I went back over what my life had done for me. I was given great parents, a great house, good private schooling, top grades, good looks and I was even accepted into a school that only allowed the most intelligent of all people in.

Yet it wasn't enough to keep me situated here, people would never understand.

No matter how many times I cried out for help, fell to the floor in agony and screamed until my lungs were no longer filled with air and my throat was dry, no one ever seemed to help, nor took the time out of their day to ask if I was ok.

They'd look at me and laugh.

They'd laugh and say 'look at all that you have, you don't have the right to be sad, people have it way worse so don't be so full of yourself' or 'you're rich, smart and you've had a good life, you'll be fine just get over it'

Yet no one could ever understand that mental illness couldn't give a fuck whether you were rich, poor, smart, black, white or what your sexuality was.

Mental illness couldn't care less, it would attach itself to you and drown you. Drown you until you couldn't take your last final breath and you were forced to stay under.

Everyone I knew, knew what I was going through yet they couldn't give a shit.

Besides my mother, she knew I was struggling and she tried to help me. She would take me to the councillors and the psychologists, but it never worded.

My father on the other hand, completely disregarded it, acted as though it wasn't real and didn't matter and I was making it all up for 'attention'.

What makes matters worse was that he lost his own father to suicide due to bipolar and his chronic headaches.

Isn't that twisted?

You'd think he would be more cautious and aid to me after losing his father like that.

But no, he didn't.

That's one of the many reasons I was so sick and tired of being here.

I hated living.

I had no reason to live.

It wasn't as if I'd ever find someone and get married, have kids that would fill that empty voice in my heart.

No one could love me.

I've only ever been in love once and that ended poorly. I wanted to tell her I loved her but I was too scared. She was taken by another man, and now I'm convinced I'll never be able to love again.

Love just wasn't for me, and I wasn't for it.

Along with many other reasons.

So that all lead to this very moment.