((TW: suicidal ideation in detail, gore))
2 - 11 - 2021
I have not been participating in school due to lack of motivation, feeling tired most of the time.
I feel very lost and angry.
I want to break everything.
I threw shit around my room, but it wasn't enough.
I want to throw all of my shit away and have nothing.
I want to have my mom back.
Sips of black coffee have not kept me awake.
I'm getting towards a dangerous place mentally.
Anger and grief has driven me here.
Hatred.
It's the desire to see beneath my skin once more, as I have been faced with it before.
To see beyond the skin and fat like rubber and stuffing, fake, waxy, pretend.
To see inside the bomb again but cut the cord this time.
There's the desire to bleed out, but unlike sometimes there is no fear, no consideration for others.
Everyone has their issues they're going through.
[ List of family members ]
Yet I know somehow, they will be fine.
My death will be hidden from him until it is necessary, and he will be fine.
He has [family member], and many more.
No one will be surprised.
They will bury it like they all do and move on.
Can I blame them for keeping their dead in the ground?
Or in necklaces and Facebook posts.
I'm old enough that they can recognize me as a failure of myself.
They had nothing to do with it.
I could tell someone, but what would it solve?
I've been here before.
I know how they take you from the cliff that overlooks crashing waves, then put you back home with the crushing silence and cold.
I'm very tired.
My mouth tastes like days worth of film.
My body does too.
I'd rather not get out of bed, but I know if I don't do the dishes they'll notice.
I could go accross the border to die.
____ my ______ in some alley, somewhere I'll never be found until I am.
What will happen to my body?
Does it matter?
Put me in a necklace too.
Wear me around your neck.
Carry that weight until you're no longer sad and throw it in the river.
I will be such a non-person then; as if I never existed.
So often is it a pen that saves me.
Or words, a melody, or a thought of the one person left whom I promised to always protect.
I swore I'd make sure you never cried like that again.
Fat lot of good that's done you.
Who have I done good in this life?
I can't remember anyone if I have.
I feel sick.
Breathing takes effort again.
If I could live forever, I wouldn't live this long.
What makes me sad is if I died no one would care about anything I did when I was alive.
Even if they did, it would've done me better alive.
I feel this pressure that must be released in the darkness of night.
Shit, shower, shave.
Throw everything that ever mattered to me like last time.
Throw me away.
It's that same excited but cold feeling.
Can't see the downside of doing it anymore.
Nothing seems to matter.
Whether the coroner sees my naked ugly body or not, whether people will be sad or not.
I know there is no light after, you just go.
I wanted to wait until I was 18, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore.
Coming from this place, nearly a year has passed and I can say it has gotten worse before it got better, but it got better. I know how hard it is to fight when you can't see a reason to fight anymore, and I extend my regards if you are feeling that way, or have in the past.
Whether it's the pen or the words or a melody, find the way, and know that it will be well someday.
I encourage reaching out to the resources below, I've found them helpful:
Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ Youth Services) -
https://www.thetrevorproject.org/get-help/
7 cups (Mental Illness/General Support) -
https://www.7cups.com/
Suicide Prevention Lifelines (Mental Illness/General Support) -
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Alliance of Hope (For those who've lost someone to suicide) -
https://allianceofhope.org/
Reddit r/SuicideBereavement (Forum for those dealing with suicide loss) -
https://www.reddit.com/r/SuicideBereavement/