2 | Bridge

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I'm sitting in an alley, trying to make myself as small as possible because I'm insignificant. I'm nothing. That's what I've been all my life. My mom has been trying to tell me this all my life, but I thought I was better than that. I'm not, not at all, and she actually makes me look better than I am. I'm worse than just being an idiot, I deserved far worse. I don't deserve to be alive.

All my thoughts are obstructing my mind. Thousands of angry, violent scribbles are being drawn in my mind. I can't be alone with my thoughts anymore, my thoughts take over, all depressing and self-doubting.

I fucking hate myself.
I fucking hate myself.
I fucking hate myself.

My thoughts have been reduced to that one destructive sentence. The one sentence that takes me from being somewhat happy to sobbing in my room and hitting myself with a text book for 3 hours.

I feel my face becoming hotter and hotter with every repetition of that sentence.

That's it, I'm done.

It starts to rain. It quickly progresses from a light rain to pouring in about three minutes.

I get up and as I'm still crying, still can barely breathe. Forgot my inhaler for my asthma. I feel out of breath, but I'm power walking towards the city part of London. I'm walking against the traffic, the ones who fit in vs the mistake. People keep giving me the strangest looks when I bump into them. They all hate me, they want me dead. They hate me more than my own mother, who I never realized was much nicer to me than most people. Everyone in school would have abused me like my mom did if they had the chance.

Everyone in the city is loved by someone else. At least one person loves them, truly cares for them, has someone in their life who would care if they're going through depression. My mom didn't care, she stopped me from going to the psychologist. School ended in June, and now August is coming to an end so I can't go to the school one. I won't have money now for uni.

I never told Cat, or PJ, or Louise because I didn't want to worry them. They wouldn't care anyways, they all hated me. They would have brushed it off or probably disowned me. I hope they had no clue what was going on. PJ, Cat and Louise all hung out without me. Even if Cat hung out with her stupid boyfriend, whoever he was since she hopped from boy to boy, usually the homophobic bully of the school, Louise wouldn't care. She's pity invite me out, it was never real.

Nothing was ever real, no relationship was true. It was all fake, to be nice.

I've been walking for about 5 minutes against the people bumping into about 20, and a car almost ran over me. I truly wish it did. The person driving never cared for me, they hated me like everyone else does. Everything is my fault.

I stop. I'm here.

Dan, you've been watching paint dry all your life, this is to speed up the process, this is the only way out. There's no other way.

I look around. Cars are driving, boats are drifting. Birds are flying. People. People are walking, talking, laughing, being happy. But not many, most are inside or focusing on getting inside, since rain is that depressing. I've never been happy. Never in my life do I remember being happy. Happiness may exist for others, but not for me. This is the one true way to happiness. To hell. Hell is my happiness.

I'm at the Windsor Bridge, in London. Not the most famous bridge of London, but any Londoner should recognize it. If I hit the water right and purposefully drown, I'll be dead. I'm escaping to my true happiness. I don't deserve it, but everyone wants me dead anyways.

(Authors note: this bridge is fictional)

I look around to see if anyone's looking. Nobody is really looking or caring for they all want to run away from the rain. I throw my bag down with all my possessions, maybe someone who needs the money will take my bag.

I hesitate. Would I rather make people mad by staying alive but get what I deserve, or make people happy but being in a place I could be happiness? I wish I could make people happy but get what I deserve. I guess hell's not good, definitely not heaven.

I'll jump. I'll make my mom proud for once. I look at the waters. I climb over the railing, my eyes still fixed on the water. The water moves along the river, in little bounces, yet it looks perfect for a splat of death.

I fucking hate myself.
I fucking hate myself.

It keeps repeating in my head. It's all I'm thinking about, those simple words but it means so much. Every single one of my mistakes is in those four words.

I'm ready.

I let go my hands of the railing and fall forward.

I'm ready to die.

Someone is holding me back.

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