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From the Journal of a Suicidee
carlos11 (2014-12-06 06:15:45)RLS for you.
Language is a tool for efficient communication. The internet is a tool for fast communication. Do not defy both intents by posting incoherent writing.
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I’ve always felt alone. For the majority of the time, I had not a reason in the world to feel that way. Well, now I do. With the one person who has not only helped me persevere, but persevere with me. One person, I guess, is better than none at all. Girls; they’ll come and they’ll go. But I know for certain, that one that is as strikingly amazing as her, will never transpire again. I’m slowly deteriorating; and I don’t know how I can prevent life’s judging marks on my soul. And people can say they care; people can act like they care. Hell, they can even prove that they care. But one is not certain that they care, until they show complete and utter loyalty and perseverance with you. I won’t find a person like that; because I’m not going to search. Why can’t people leave me alone, if all they’re going to do is break my heart at some point? What is the purpose? Is it some sick joke that they have to play? Is it so that pain thirsty darkness dwellers like myself, can get their fix? Regardless of what the reason may be, I must try to keep a level head about things like this. I used to be independent: but people, like those stated above, had to alter that. I crave people’s company. And I crave telling someone about how much I care for them; but I now only crave that part. I don’t have the slightest intention to care about what other people care about; or what they like, or how they feel. I didn’t steer onto the path of sociopathism, but it’s what happened after the long periods of yesterday; the new struggles that come of all of it today. Because as I weld this compass with the shockingly sharpened needle point, I begin to do what I’d been dreading. I insert the needle in my skin; and proceed to create a harrowing gash in my left wrist. “T†marks the spot, in my scenario. I mirror the same into my right; except this time, I write in words. “For those who hear me speak, even when I’m not around.†After careful execution, I begin to feel lightheaded. My hands felt numb, and my arms felt like they were being skinned and boiled. As the blood rushed onto my yellow carpet, I saw a true glimpse of sanity. One that I’d never seen before. I viewed what it was like to be genuinely happy, for once in my life. Because that was the point, where I had passed on. My family only saw me days later; when my blood was all but dried out. The lifelessness could be felt from houses down, because that was when my demons were truly released. Suicidees might go to the depths of hell; but I for sure did not. Because even if I had, it would’ve beat the day, after wretched day of my painful life. I’m finally free. The problem was, no one was there to stop me.