Suicide is a Disease

It always starts with a horrible event. Always. Whether it's rape, abuse, or a loved one dying. You start to blame yourself. You start to say you deserve this. You tell everyone you're fine, but go home and do those horrible things to yourself. You don't deserve this. It get's to the best people. Those who forgive to easily or just smile when someone disrespects them. They start to hurt themselves. Some people only talk to them to get rid of the guilt. But I know. I can see your pain. You can try to fool me with a smile, but I can see through it. You drift through life until your inevitable death, if you don't tell anyone. Just, please...talk to someone who cares about you. I can understand, you feel unloved but there will always, and I mean always be someone who loves you. Then, when you're gone, it spreads to them. They start to blame themselves for not being there, for not realizing before it was too late. But then, there are those lucky few. Those few that are saved. Someone saw that last post on Facebook that you hoped no one saw. That post that declared your suicide. They would race to your house and tear you away from your pain. They would heal you, make you happy.

 Finally, we cut off one branch.