sometimes the feeling of being alone and empty within yourself is enough to make you want to **** yourself. it's like being trapped in a hole, isolated from the world and you lack the will to climb out on your own. you stay in the hole for hours, days, weeks, and eventually the feeling of being alive crushes your spirit until you can't exist anymore because of how painful the suffering of silence and routine grind your soul and will into nothing.
you stop feeling excited for things. you can't bear to stay awake for birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays. the days feel like they're going too slow to handle anymore. so, you walk out of the confines of your room and to the bathroom. you take a blade to the wrist while the shower runs to hide the choking sobs that come out from your mouth, so your mother doesn't hear. everything is red.
you watch it flow down the drain. that's you, that's part of you. the part of you that you wish would leave your body entirely. the struggle between appearing okay and forcing yourself to believe the same is impossible. you leave the bathroom, ashamed, numb, and still considering what could possibly stop the pain that nothing seems to help. you lay in bed and the wall you've shared a gaze with countless hours on many sleepless nights stares back at you in total silence.
you fall asleep, and you wake up at 6am before your parents are even awake. you tell yourself that this is the today it all ends. you walk to the bathroom, trying to avoid the spots on the floor that make a creaking noise, so you don't wake your sleeping parents. you hold the blade to your wrist. one cut, two cuts, ten cuts, then forty. forty seven. you look down. ****. you hit a vein. there's blood on the floor, and you grip the bathroom sink with your hands to keep yourself from passing out. you open your mouth to call out the words "mom! dad!, but it's too late. everything goes black.
you realize you've already accomplished exactly what you've wanted, or was it? you expect to see your life flash before your eyes but instead there is only a sharp pain, labored breathing, and the fading away of everything "you" were. they'll say 'if only we paid more attention', 'if we just noticed the signs' but you were the best at pretending and no one could've predicted the vast amount of nothingness inside of you that you were desperate to get away from. it is the end of you, all that's left are fuzzy memories and possessions from better days. you aren't free, love, you're just gone.
