Killing myself seems so easy, so close to home.
It has been so far away before, and now it’s almost palpable, I can touch it with my fingers and it doesn’t shy away. It stays, curious of me, wanting to be stroked and loved.
And I am loving it, giving it attention it wants, and the urge to cut is impossible to stand up against.
I wish my state of drunkenness was greater, because I’m not sure I want to feel the pain.
The only thing holding me back is the arrival of my mum and sister, but even they can’t keep a lid on this, because it is consuming me. It is eating me from the inside and out, and all I want is to forget for a short while.
I just want to kill myself so much that not even a seven year old with a fever can make me want to stay un this world longer than I need to.
Not even the thought of how hurt my friends and family will be is keeping me from it, not the unread books, the unseen films, or the friends that I haven’t met yet.
I just want to be rid of it all, I either want to be taken care of somewhere remote, in a facility where they take me seriously, or I want to die a bloody death (or maybe hang myself on the back of my door) in my room because I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to be one out of almost one thousand people in a building.
I just don’t want to live, and I don’t want to have obligations, or medicine to take all the time. I’m thinking of taking all of the pills at once, while I bleed out, or suffocate myself on a piece of string. I want to die, my meds won’t help, and they’re talking about dosage.
Just kill me, I don’t want to live.