people act like it's something to romanticize, yknow, being this way. "oh I'm sad" and then everyone suddenly cares, that's what people expect to happen, but see, the sad truth is "oh I'm sad" is usually returned with "well, just stop being sad," or "yeah, me too," or "why? nothing's even happening to you." see that's the ******' thing about depression. even if your day is wonderful, even if you spend the day laughing, when you're alone, or even right in the middle of laughing, you'll be nothing. or at least that's how it is for me. you know I try, I really do, I try for meds, and even with them, it feels like nothing is really working. I'll try with these ******* stupid *** techniques I'll find online, I'll try to get my **** together. and for a time, yknow, for a little bit it seems to actually work. but then the smallest thing goes wrong and I'm back in my hole of self-loathing. maybe death isn't the answer, but life doesn't seem to be it either. I'm constantly manic these days, but all that I can do is sit here and go off inside myself like a ticking bomb until I explode, tear myself open, and start all over again. i. feel. worthless. like I'm nothing, nothing but some spec on the infinite cosmos. and that doesn't bother me much, you know, thinking about how small I am compared to literally everything else.  I know how small I am, I'm finally okay with that, but feeling like this black hole? this is different. because not only am I small, I'm entirely forgotten. but it's not like there's much to remember about me, right?
J.
J was.. J was something, weren't they? If they weren't joking about everything, they were overthinking everything. Sure, J was sweet, but was J really anything we can remember? Do you remember much about J? Cause I sure don't. Let's see. J. J Novella Scott. 5'1, 135 pounds of pure mania and psychotic tendencies. 18 years old when they died, lost themselves to the battle with suicide, found with their blood seeping out of slits they made with the razorblades, aka their lovers. messy dark brown hair on top of hazel eyes, freckles in all the wrong places, eyes unmatched in symmetry. J was abnormally dull.
J.
J loved poetry, witchcraft, and art of all sorts, but they also had a crippling dependency on attention. Regardless of who it was from, they wanted it. A guy with an interest in ******* them, perfect, that's everything they could have wanted, forget anyone that only wanted to hold them in their arms and tell J that they were something incredible, **** all the past boyfriends and girlfriends that wanted J to see how great they were to them, oh yes, **** those that showed some ounce of humanity, because the truth is J just wanted to be used. They've been used all their life, this shouldn't have been anything new. To quote J, "we accept the love we think we deserve." Too bad J only accepted trash men who think with their second head. See, J, they were crazy. Not the crazy that would push a pillow to your face when you were sleeping, or at least they hadn't actually done it, just thought about it, no, J was the type of crazy to meet someone, read that person, discover what they truly wanted, and then J gave it to them. Wanted a **** for a pet? J was your them. Wanted someone to bash in and destroy mentally, J spreaded their metaphoric brain legs, and allowed the headfuck to begin. J was what we call a mirrorer, they can turn into whoever you want them to be just by reading you for mere seconds. They might not have acted like it, but they had a head on their shoulders, it just wasn't used properly.
J.
J was something new, yet not something good enough to be called special. They did normal things, and they did the abnormal. one of their favorite past times was rolling up their sleeves and carving the person who they loved the most's name in their arm. See, J got attached way too easily, and that was one of their many many many many flaws. And when they got attached, it wasn't for a month or a year, that sort of thing was eternal, whether they wanted it to be or not. J wasn't a great person, but they tried to be.
J.
J was nothing to muse at. their features weren't something to be described in a great love novel, they were basic in everything on the outside, and on the inside J was nothing but someone to be afraid of and afraid for. J would say they deserved this sort of death, something by their own hands. J wanted to go for years, and the thing is I'd bet they were just too much of a ***** to do it sooner. Maybe they were waiting for someone to come around and make them second guess it, or maybe they just wanted to be a thorn in the foot of the world for as long as they could. Whatever kept them here, it kept them for too long. See, J, as I've said before, wasn't very special, but somehow they did enough right in the world to make people actually like them, maybe even care for them, despite what J thinks. so in conclusion, J was ******, and J ruined everything they got involved with, may they rest knowing that in the end, they were right about everything that included themself.   J was something weren't they? Or maybe, know, the truth is, they weren't really anything.
J.
J?
J, they were nothing. and the world moves on.