Have you ever sat in a room full of people and felt completely alone?

I have, I feel like that every single day.

I can't ever remember a place where I belonged.

I have been an outsider my entire life.

I am never aware of people's secrets or of their plans.

If people are laughing I think that they are laughing at me.

Insecurity breeds paranoia.

Nobody likes me; I have no family, no place to call my home.

I would do anything to have someone that loves me, someone who cares about what happens to me, whether I am happy or sad.

I would do anything to have somewhere to belong, to be liked, to have people that I could call my friends, my family.

I have done terrible things, bad things, things that you would hardly believe a girl of my age is capable of.

But so have many other people, so why is everybody's hate and distrust directed at me?

Sometimes I think that no one would notice if I was dead, that no one would care and that no one would weep at my funeral, that there would be nobody there.

I feel so useless, so wretched and so alone I think that being dead must be easier than this.

I daydream about how I will kill myself.

I could jump in front of a delivery truck or jump off of the roof.

But there is no guarantee that I would actually die I might just become a vegetable trapped inside my own body completely dependant upon the people who despise me.

I could shoot myself or overdose on some lethal drug; only I don't know where I could buy a gun or get the drugs.

I have tried to smother myself and starve myself but I can never go through with it.

I don't have enough willpower.

I used to think that I would hang myself but apparently you can take a long time to die and I fear pain more than anything else other than this loneliness.

I could slash my wrists.

I know how to do that properly.  I saw it on a film once.

You don't slash your wrists horizontally.

You make the cuts vertically along the vein and press really hard so that the blade goes deep enough to rip it open completely.

You die quicker that way.

If I squeeze my eyes tightly shut I can see the colour of the blood, rich, dark and red. Feel it oozing thickly but quickly from the wounds upon my wrists.

Hear it as it drips off of my fingertips and clothes onto the floor beneath my feet.

I've tried to slit my wrists many times.

None of the knives were ever sharp enough to do the job properly though.

One day I will find one that is…..