I go over to under my bed and pull out the pad of unfinished suicide notes. I can never find the write way to start or finish it. I can never find a way to tell my parents why I'm dead. Everything I write sounds like crap. "Dear Mom and Dad" or "Dear Family and Friends." It all sounds like I'm writing a nice sweet note. Should I even write this fucking note? Should they even get to find out why I'm dead? They never ask about anything, so why should they know? They do deserve an explanation though, but I won't tell them everything. I most definitely won't tell them I'm gay. I don't know even know how to write it. Here we go.
"You never asked what's wrong. You never offered support. You thought my life was fine and dandy. Inside I was a beast trying to claw its way out. I was depressed, I wanted to die. This wasn't because of just one day of being bullied. My whole life I've been bullied and you've never even bothered to ask why I came home with a black eye, or had dry blood on my face. You never even knew what I went through every day.
You weren't open parents. You weren't willing to talk about it. I didn't think I could talk to you about anything. I mean, you didn't even think something bad was going on at school. This was my only option. I was living the worse life possible and I couldn't take it anymore.
Bye Mom. Bye Dad. Bye World.
-Reed"
I walk over to my bedside and reach underneath it. I fumble around until I find my knife. I hurry back over to my window sill. I look outside thinking that I could maybe have another chance at life. I guide the knife up my body, and start chiseling bits, and bits of skin off of my body. Blood is oozing everywhere and I refuse to stop until I'm dead. I hear a knock at my door, and I limp over to my door to lock it so my mom can't come in. I want her to find me dead, not alive.
I hurry back to my windowsill to grab my knife. The knocking continues but I keep cutting anyway. I cut, and I cut. I refuse to stop until I'm dead. One last cut before I reach the bone, and the knocking stops. All of a sudden I hear a loud bang as my father kicks down my door. I drop my knife and hide all of my cuts.
He sees blood everywhere and calls 911. The ambulance comes within 5 minutes and loads me into the car. I am not dead. I am alive and I will refuse to stop cutting until I die.
