It's so hard to talk about suicide. It's hard to talk about wanting to kill yourself. A few words come out but then it's like your brain shuts down and won't allow anymore past your lips. You also get this feeling. This feeling in your chest like you're letting the person that you're telling down. You're disappointing them. Talking is the only way to get help. But when you want to kill yourself, you don't want help. You want to die. Everything would be better without you breathing in oxygen and taking up space.
A waste of space. That's all he was. He was a waste of space and he knew it. He'd been told it every day, and by the people he seemed to trust the most. He'd let someone in, start to trust them, then they'd go and tell him that he was stupid or disgusting. Or something along those lines.
And he was starting to believe that it was true. That night was the night we was going to stop being a waste of space. He was going to stop being the itch people couldn't scratch. That pimple on everyone's face. He was going to stop bugging everyone.
He looked down at the full bottle of pills in his hand, shaking it a little so he could hear the tiny capsules rattle around in the plastic container. The sound was strangely comforting
He opened the bottle and set the lid on his bedside table, next to the glass of water. He shook some out into his hand and looked down at them. They were so white, so perfect. They smelt a bit funky but Sebastian didn't mind. This was it. He was actually going to do this.
Two pills down his throat. Everything would be better. He wouldn't feel pain anymore and he wouldn't be the cause of anyone else's. He'd be there one minute then gone the next. Three more pills. The back of his mouth tasted weird but he ignored it. Two more washed down. Three more. Finally, most of the bottle was gone and he was feeling tired. Tired and drowsy.
Sebastian stumbled his way to his bed, wanting to lay down. So this was how death felt like. He curled up under the covers and let himself relax against the soft mattress. Everything felt almost perfect. He took a deep breath and rolled over onto his back.
Starring up at his ceiling, he counted all the little glow-in-the-dark stars that were up there as he tried to keep his mind busy, the ones that used to make him feel safe and happy. He wondered what it'd be like up in space. He knew it'd be cold. Cold and dark and probably a lot like death. He started to slowly feel himself slip away from reality. The feeling was amazing. It felt like all of his pain was slowly melting and dripping out of his body. Maybe when he died, he'd go up to space.
(Okay, end note. I'm sorry that it's sucky and stuff haha it was rushed)