So....It didn't exactly work..
I'm still here.
I'm still depressed.
I still long for the day I stop breathing.
My skin still gets split open.
Red still pours out.
My brain still continues to plan a new death plan.
There still is pleading from the other side of the wooden door.
I still haven't left home to get to school.
None of my homework gets completed.
That's all because I'm trying to die. Everything piling up. All the thoughts in my brain are suicide, pain, and negative things about myself.
Next...I think I will cut vertically across the vain in my forearm. Maybe that will stop the constant pain I bring on myself.
You know, I don't really even seem to remember the start of all my depression anymore. I remember the day I realized how sad and alone I felt. I still think of how I started bullying myself, beating myself up for everything I found wrong about myself.
There isn't even a good thing about myself. Maybe just the thing about me that knows everything will be better for everyone if I'm gone and dead. When fire consumes my body and the ashes fall. Hopefully my parents will bury my ashes. I can burn and fall to hell as all air is cut off to me. It's not like I deserve it anyways.
Perhaps, maybe even the fact I haven't eaten for nine days will help. Maybe the hunger and lack of food will kill me slowly so I can endure a sliver I the pain I deserve. Perhaps if I get lucky, somebody will get a ladder and bash through my third story bedroom window to give me a slow, painful death.
Now...where did my knife go this time?