Pain used to inspire me to write. Words would flow easily through my fingers, substituting my tears. I used to draw my pain. I painted my canvas with feelings, and emotions, that words could not express. If things started to feel hopeless, music was my saviour. I would write lyrics, amplifying the words with sad tunes, spilling my deepest, darkest thoughts. But now, the pain is so strong, it is all I can think of. My thighs are covered in scars, from when the pain got so bad, that I needed to bleed it out. Now, I realize, that I have drained myself. ThereΒ΄s no tears, no words, no paint, no blood left, to spill.
I hope that whoever can relate to this, keeps on going. DonΒ΄t give up, even if it feels hopeless. ThereΒ΄s always a way out. Suicide does not have to be one of them.