…..
He can't do it anymore. It hurts to much... The pain, he's put up with it for the last 2 years. It's been too long. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second hurts. This emotional pain and stress is too much. He'll break any day now. He can't do it anymore.
He can't believe what he has done. He can't believe that he hurt his best friend. The blonde-haired, green-eyed best friend. His brother. The only person who understood him. And now, his other two friends are furious with him. He needs them. They're the only reason he's alive. But, now, he's living in regret. He can't believe what he has done.
He's living in regret. He can't bear this. He needs his best friend. Why did he have to screw up so badly? Why did he have to open his godamn mouth? He needs him. It hurts so much. He's regretting it more than anything in the world. He's regretting everything he's done. Every single thing. He wasn't thinking. But, that's no excuse. That's no reason to do what he did. He's living in regret.
He doesn't know where else to turn. His friends all hate him, his parents are out of the question, his older brother doesn't give a crap. Sure, he has a girlfriend. But, she's already helped him too much. She deserves a break. He has a few other people, but he's already bothered them too much. They don't need to put up with his crap. He doesn't know where else to turn.
He's finished. Life isn't anything but . Sadness. There's nothing else for him in life. He doesn't remember the last time he was happy. All those times, he seemed happy to his friends, they were all faked. He's good at hiding his emotions. Faking happiness is easy for him. It's easy to pretend he's carefree. But, at the end of the day, everything comes rushing back. And makes him want to commit suicide more than ever. He's finished.
He's writing a suicide letter. A letter to his friends. His brother. The people who care about him. And, some that don't. So, maybe, just maybe, they'll see what they've done to him. What their abuse and neglect has done to him. What it's made him. Maybe, just maybe, they'll feel a tiny ounce of regret. Or sorrow. That, their son was so broken, and they just kicked him when he was already down. Maybe, just maybe. Maybe, his friends will understand. They don't know how hard this is for him. Sure, they comforted him, but they've never physically experiences this, so they can't say they understand. Because they don't. He's writing a suicide letter.
He hates himself. He knows what he is. A fucking asshole. A bloody cunt. A godamned bitch. He knows all of this. He understands that he's a waste of space. He understands that he wasn't supposed to be born. He knows that everyone wants him dead. He hates the fact that he's too much of a coward to end it, once and for all. He hates that he can't satisfy these people, and take his life. He hates himself.
He's broken beyond control. Suicide invades his mind. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. He has thoughts about slicing his wrist pen. Cutting so deep, he bleeds to death. Or, he could go find his father's gun. The gun his father used to intimidate him. If he didn't listen to his father,the gun was pointed at him, fully loaded. He could find that very gun. And shoot himself, killing himself instantly. He just wants to die. He's broken beyond control.
He's done. He can't take it anymore. He's going to do it. Once and for all. He can't do it anymore. He can't believe what he has done. He's living in regret. He doesn't know where else to turn. He's finished. He's writing a suicide letter. He hates himself. He's broken beyond control. He's done.
….well?