You know that feeling you have when people try to talk you out of killing yourself? That feeling that makes you want to punch them, but you can't. Because deep down you are craving for someone to notice. For someone to hear you whispering to yourself 'I need help. Please help me.'. Well fuck all the bastards who do that. They don't understand. They have never felt that feeling of being pushed away. They have never known what it was to walk in your shoes, to live your life. They just don't want to be responsible for your death. They want to be as surprised as everyone else when your damn body is found. Never believe them when they say that they have been through the same thing, because there is no possible way for them to go through the same exact thing you have been going through. They will never be you. They will never see from your point of view. They say your reasons are stupid. They don't understand why someone who has everything would want it to end. They compare you to a dying orphan is Africa. They say that little boy is struggling to survive while you are just wanting to kill yourself because you don't have friends. They try to compare apples to oranges. When I die, I am donating all of my money to that dying kid in Africa. He won't be dying anymore, happy? They won't be able to use that against you. They say everything gets better when you get older but it never does because tomorrow, next week, the week after that, hell even next year you will be the same fuck up. I want to die, it'll lower the population by 1, that's a change. No one will care. No one will mourn. They will continue their lives. No one will have that empty hole in their heart because I'm gone. They will never go through life wishing I was with there with them. No one will freak out and be crying and cutting themselves. No one would be praying or mentally breaking down. Because no one loves me. No one cares about me. No one understands what's been happening. I smile through it like nothing is wrong. I keep living my life-like any other person. I start to blend into the crowd of happy people because that's want I want people to believe. They say to stop focusing on the bad things. That life has so many happy things in it. That you need to stop being so anti-social. That you should communicate with others. To mix and mingle to have more friends. But friends are just people who turn and stab you in the back.
Then there are parents. Who you used to think so highly of. Who you thought you loved, but then life comes and hits you in your face and you realize, they don't care. No matter how many expensive things Daddy Dearest buys you or how many times your mother keeps trying to compliment on how you look, they all have a limit. A limit where I have already been pushed beyond that limit. It's the limit beyond caring, beyond love, beyond parental bonds. It's the limit they begin to hate you, you're existence, you're very presence in the same house as you. Of course my mother is dead, I don't really remember her. Dad used to say I got her eyes, but that was before he turned into a drunk.
Or it's damned love. It's the greatest weapon you can have against someone. I never trusted anyone to let them make that vulnerable. I love him. I really do, but not the schoompy can't get him out of my head love. The kind of love that makes you want to call them, and just listen to them comfort you. It's the love of being safe and secure. Of having someone to talk to. Someone to tell the truth to. Not a building of lies that you created in your mind to make yourself believe that you are normal. A regular person, but you once again aren't. You are that fat,ugly, annoying, mean, horrible person and people don't have problems telling, or showing, how much they hate you.
I known I must sound very sad and depressing, but actually I am ecstatic. Today might just be the most amazing day of my life. It probably is,seeing as my life up to now was just plain horrible.
I hear my phone ringing and I pick it up smiling when I see who it is.
"Bas, I'm outside. Are you ready for our date?"
I glance out my window and sure enough, he is out there.
"Yeah, I'm coming."
a/n: I'm sorry for the shortness.