Why do I live?
I can count the number of times I've been happy on both hands.

Why don't I die?
It would be really easy to **** myself, I realise this.

But when I press the cold steel to my flesh.
I hesitate.

Death seems to be the ultimate thing I crave.
But my greatest fear.

I've spent too many nights sobbing into my pillow.
So I ask myself.

Why do I live?
I like seeing my family happy.

Why?
I like seeing my friends happy.

Why?
I like seeing anybody happy.

Why?
I hate seeing them upset.

Will I ever be truly satisfied?
I doubt it.

But, I want to try.

Why do I live?
I live not for myself. But I live for others.

Why don't I die?
Even though I don't believe it, people will be upset once I'm gone.

So when I press the cold steel to my flesh.
I put the knife away.

Death seems to be the ultimate thing I crave.
But if I let the urge completely erode me I will never be happy.

Happiness doesn't start once you die.
It happens when you learn to live.