Dear Diary (May's Diary)

November 10, 2012

Dear Diary,

I haven't written in a while, but I figure now is as good a time as any.  I could write about Trevor, and how well things are going since I broke up with George.  I could write about how I'm mad at Lea.  I could write about Ava's ex boyfriend sexually harassing me.  Or I could write about the thing that's really tearing me apart.

I don't know what's wrong, but I can tell you this; I'm having problems.  My suicidal thoughts have gotten worse.  I know I'd never do it, but I can't just ignore the fact that I hate myself and think that life would be so much easier for everyone if I weren't here.

I even wrote an essay about it.  I swear, I'm the only person in the world who chooses of their own free will to write an essay.  So here it is:

If I were to kill myself, would I leave a suicide note?  Who would I leave it to?  What would it say?  How long would it be?  The ever so unfortunate part is that I’m not sure how to answer those questions.

Would I leave a note?  Would I explain my reasoning to my dear friends?  I suppose the answer to that is another question.  Do I have friends that I hold dear?  I suppose one or two, but not much more, and if I were to disappear, only one would be permanently affected.  Only one person would care for more than a few days.

What would I say?  “I’m sorry life didn’t work out for me?”  No; too depressed.  Of course, if I were to commit suicide, that would be depressive in itself.  “I’m not who you want me to be?” Or maybe “I couldn’t take it anymore?”  Would I let my last recorded words be vague and confusing, or would I elaborate a bit more?  “These feelings of depression are just too much to handle.  I know it’s not the right answer, but is there a truly good choice left for me?”

I suppose I’d make it long.  Explain myself.  After all, I’d want to put my loved ones’ minds at rest.  I wouldn’t want them wondering guiltily if there had been something they could have done.  But maybe, that is what I want.  Perhaps I wish I could pass this life off on my little check list of things to do during the eternity, and look over people from the other side and discover how much they truly care.  See what they think, hear what they say, know what it’s like for them.

Could I do it?  Would I really actually do it?  If I were to cut myself, would I chicken out at the last moment and bandage it up and go to the hospital?  Could I let my mother go through that again?  I could only imagine how she would react if she lost yet another child.  Her first and last, both gone.  Would it tear her up as much, or will she know this time how to cope?

Would I want her to suffer?  Of course not.  I would not want her to hurt so much over my decisions.  But of course, there is a part of me that would love to know that someone cared so much for me.  To know that I had the power to hurt someone so much.

And who would hear the news- that I will not be coming back to school- and regret the way they treated me?  I don’t know, but part of me hopes that the number is high.  Would Kaleb, or Stephon wish they could take back all the hurtful words they’d said to me?

Does that make me selfish?  No, better yet, don’t answer that.  Your answer could very well lead me to make my decision.

If I were to die today, who would care?  Who would wish they could jump off of that bridge right there with me?  I’d ask if I could live with myself if I did something that would hurt the ones I loved, but that’s the beauty in it all.  I wouldn’t have to live with it.

So again I ask myself; would I do it?  I might.  Would I leave a note?  I think maybe my loved ones deserve that much, so yes.  Who would I leave it to?  Whoever cares enough to read it.  How long would it be?  Long enough.  And what would it say?

It would say sorry.  It would tell my mother and friends that I loved them, and that I want them to have good lives without me.

Without me.

Would I do it?

No.

But I'm still upset.  I just don't know what to do.  I'm mad at everyone I care about, I hate everyone I love.  but the hardest part about it all, is accepting the fact that the person who I hate the most, is myself.

I really hate it when people say that my problems aren'te real.  When people tell me that someone out there has it worse.  They don't know how I'm feeling.

And they would never guess what I tried to do.

That's right; little sweet, innocent May wouldn't ever want to cut herself.