You’re fat. Worthless and dirty. You have nothing going for you so why try? You just need to end it, people will be happier. Nobody likes you nor will they ever. I mean, just look at you. Utterly disgusting to look at.
Mirror. I stare at you with puffy red eyes. My face is red and hot. And your scars are showing. The tears are still running down my cheek and I can taste the saltiness of it dripping down on my lips. Crybaby. My lips are cracked and broken because I have been thinking for too long. My hair is thin and tangled from me pulling at it and twisting it around with my finger. My face is fat and ugly, nothing can change that.
What’s going to hurt less? Nevermind, you deserve to feel every second of excruciating pain. Should it be fast? Not at all the slower the better. Should I leave a note? No one is going to read it, no one is going to care so no. How do I do it? I can name three ways. It’s worth it, right? One hundred percent worth it.
The house is quiet right now, great it’s a perfect time. But quietness brings about dark thoughts. And memories you wish you could erase.
Memories like bugs being thrown at me. You shouldn’t be sitting on the bus alone in the first place. Memories of being called the biggest pig in the whole school. It’s true you’re really fat. Memories of being rejected because I am way too ugly for anyone to ever like.
No one wants an ugly girl. Memories of being called stupid and blind. Don’t forget four eyes. Memories of being abandoned. Like I said before no one wants you don’t think otherwise. Dark, cold memories.
Just grab the razor. You won’t be able to tie a rope strong enough to hold you.
I grab a pink razor that sits on the sink. I used it once before to shave because they called me hairy. I mean girls shouldn’t have that much hair. I break the cheap plastic and hold the tiny blade in my fingers. It’s sharp and ready. I look down at my wrist and see my veins through the thick skin. I know that it would be easy to cut down and it’ll all be over. All over.
I close my eyes. Keep them open. I open them again and hold the blade right above my skin. You’re doing it the wrong way stupid. Go down. I adjust the blade to go South to North.
Do it. Just do it already. My heart is beating fast and now my forehead is about to sweat like crazy. I cry even more. The tears are blurring my vision like looking at clear honeycombs. It feels like 100 degrees in this tiny bathroom. One cut that’s it then it’ll all be over. Do it.
Drop.
The blade lands in the sink with a clink left on the marble. I let out a big breath and cry more. Stop.
Although I wish this was the only time I was about to end it all, three more attempts followed after just a few months apart. But they never won. Suicidal thoughts dominating my head but never my actions. 10 years old and afraid of life already.
IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW ARE STRUGGLING WITH SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND/OR TENDENCIES, REACH OUT IMMEDIATELY. NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THIS ALONE. SUICIDE IS SERIOUS.
National Suicide Hotline: 1 (800) 273-8255 - available 24/7
