If you love me,
Or ever did,
I beg you to stop.
Usually it would be the opposite
But as much as I hate being broken,
I hate being the one to break even more.
Before, I encouraged you to take the leap—
As long as it’s not me,
Be my guest.
I know how much loving in silence hurts,
But if you love me so much you’d understand why I value your silence.

To the teachers who never really cared and ignored my problems;

To my fellow “*****”, “misfits”, etc. Who will no doubt receive more abuse upon my passing, as my tormentors will no longer have me to push around;

To those who never cared, never spoke, probably never knew my name;

To the one true friend, whose caring was the only thing that prevented this event from happening sooner;

To the God, if he does exist, who chose to play a cruel, cruel joke on me when he placed me where he did and surrounded me with so many uncaring faces;

What about my teachers? Will they be sorry to see another student become a statistic? Certainly the administration and Principal will mourn, as my death will not reflect well on them as an institution. Well, I apologize for making the statistics for your administration worse. But I don’t expect an apology for the false sympathies of people.

As for my fellow students, those who made a more significant impact on my life, I know better than to expect my tormentors to mourn.

There’s another group I have not yet addressed: those not like me who left me alone. Or should I say ignored me. I appreciate you sparing me any further harassment, but your inaction, your withheld hellos and how are you’s  did more hurt than any name calling. Your inaction effectively excluded me from student life, from the human race. You left me isolated and alone, and no words I could say can convey to you the suffering you caused. I could name names, but in doing so, I would do more now for you than you ever did for me in life.

I do not know what awaits me when I get down off this rope. Will there be a void? Or will I come face to face with God? I just don’t care anymore. If you’re anything like your people, I wouldn’t want to know you. You preached to love one another, yet I’ve felt everything except love from Christians. Even if I knew you were different, well, I'd still reject you. You have left your “followers” to treat people like me poorly. You have allowed so many of the people you “love”, including me, to suffer. So you want me to trust you with my life? I don’t want to spend eternity with a careless deity like you, or with the company you keep.

I’m trying to watch TV but I don’t know what I’m watching. It’s so lonely here. I want to sleep but it just won’t come. I’m so tired of hurting and being alone.

I hope that with my death, there'll be a wider awareness for child abuse and the effects it could have on a person. That's the only wish I have right now. A lot of people will be hurt with my passing, disappointed even, or maybe it won't matter. But I'd like to believe, no matter how much of a ****** up person I am, I died for a cause greater and bigger than myself. That's the only consolation that I have right now.

So that’s it. That’s me. Leaving the world to be a better place.

Goodbye - T



© Copyright Tyler Atherton

You never think you'll start.
And then you do, and you think you'll never stop.
Sometimes you just wish everything would stop.
But it doesn't. And it can't. You know that.
So you quit.
A week. A month. Maybe even two.
Yet slowly you feel this pressure,
This constant nagging of unspoken emotion.
Maybe you don't acknowledge it yet, but you will.
And then all of a sudden it all explodes.
You're standing there. Breaking down; again.
Drowning under it all.
So you take your pail, throwing water out of this sinking boat.
A desperate, meaningless attempt to stay.
Blade against skin

with depression comes manipulation. you end up lying. you lie about how you feel or you let out bits but not whole truths. they believe you.
with self harm comes manipulation. you know you have eight blades but you give up five. you have twelve hiding spaces but you give up eight. they believe you.
with progress becomes manipulation. you use the coping skills and say are helping. you cut in different places. you lie about feeling better and let your emotions out somewhere else

Self harm starts as one small cut. One blade you found in your brothers drawer. You heard him say one time that it makes him feel better. You hurt and you don’t know why. You take the blade to your skin for the first time you press down and pull it across your skin. You are hooked. It bleeds and it fascinates you. You wipe the blood away with some toilet paper and put a bandaid on it. You hide the blade under the bucket in the cabinet and move on with your day. You can’t stop thinking about it. You go back later and do one, two, three more cuts. You create a routine. You go back day after day. Multiple times a day. You tell yourself you can stop anytime until you realize you can’t. You look down at your thighs one day to do a few more cuts. You realize there is no more space. You move to your stomach. Then to your calves. Then your wrist. You look at your body in the mirror one day and see it is covered with blood, scabs, and scars. You disgust yourself. You can’t stand to look at yourself. One day your mom sees a scar or a cut that pokes out the top of your sleeve. She tells you that you are destroying yourself. She tells your dad and he yells a you says that you are an attention seeker. You believe it You believe all the horrible things people say about you. You see more and more flaws that you can’t stand. Its too much. It is all too much. Its too much. You go to the hall closet. You find the bottle that says minipress. You grab it shut the door and walk into the bathroom. You open the bottle and pour it’s content out into your hand. There are about twenty four pills. You put them on the counter, lining them up one by one. You find yourself picking them up one by one and placing them in your mouth. You pick up the last one and swallow it. It hits you. You realize what you have done. You lay on the ground and wait to fall asleep. You wake up in a strange rubber bed covered in scratchy sheets. You open your eyes and look around there are three strangers and your mom in the room. You are in a hospital. You survived but you realize you didn't want to wake up.