I woke up, just like any average morning, considering it was an average morning. I went to that fucking school, saw all those fucking people, and hated every fucking second. Average day. I got home, and I fucking hated it even though nothing was wrong. Not a thing. I just got irritating by every little thing and even just dropping a pencil at that point could push me over the edge. I know I have parents who love me. I know that. I could tell basically anyone I have ever talked to and they would get me help. My mom, my dad, my step-dad, and my step-mom. My friends, siblings, teachers, even random people at my school. Maybe even random people from random places. There is so many people that would care and get me help. I know that. Don't try to fucking convince me of something I already know. I feel this way a lot. Maybe it's depression. Or maybe I'm just convincing myself I have depression. Maybe I subconsciously think its cool to hate yourself and everything. I feel like I'm making a big deal out of nothing and it's all my fault I feel this way. I know that if I killed myself or cut myself or some stupid shit like that, I would regret it. I know that it would hurt so many people. My mom, my dad, my step-dad, and my step-mom. My other family, my friends, teachers, even random people at my school. Maybe even random people from random places. I know my death could possibly make them feel how I feel and do what I did. I know they might blame themselves and hate me for it or hate themselves or even just hate everyone like me. I know that. I know people will care. But I won't. None of that knowledge even begins to change how I feel. Not at all. You can't help me, because I already know all the cons of my situation. I wonder whats the point, why go out and do hard work to get a good career? People only do that shit so they can show off to other people how successful they are. But why the fuck does it matter what they think? They aren't me, they don't need to think highly of me. They don't need to be impressed by me. It's absolutely pointless. All that should matter to me is my happiness and my happiness alone. Why can't I just stay in one room all day every day and do whatever the fuck I want? Binge watch netflix for 24 hours straight. Eat whatever food I want whenever the fuck I want. Why can't I have that? I deserve that. I deserve something. Anything. People will always say you regret suicide. You regret how bad people feel. Well guess what? I'll be dead. It won't matter to me. I wouldn't exist anymore. All the pain? Gone. All the happiness? Gone. Everything? Gone. So I wouldn't even be able to think. I wouldn't be able to regret. So what if i want to get an old rusty razor that will probably cause an infection. So what if I want it to dig in to my skin. So what if you see my scars and think I need help, and become devastated that I would do that to myself. So fucking what. It doesn't matter. It will never matter. One day we will all be gone and it will all have been pointless. There will be some remembered but that won't be you or me and you know it. It is all fucking pointless.
