heartstrings

sunset in april

m.s.

anytime that a person searches on google 'best ways to die', whatever country you are currently in at that moment, the national suicide helpline will come up first. then something else will, and it'll be some kind of website that says something or other about stopping suicide.

it's about making that choice. choosing between sides: should i live, or should i die? should i stay, or should i go? clearly the internet wants me to choose the first and third options.

i'm thinking this now, stood completely unbalanced on the top of the world. but actually i'm just atop the church bell tower. it's a white sided church, christian and far too religious. but i've travelled all the way over to the northern side of town and for a southern-side-of-town-guy like me, it's not exactly normal. so it seems rather amusing that i've gathered a crowd just below me.

it's laughable really. i've come here to jump off what i believe to be the end of the world and all they care about is who i am. stiles stilinski. terrible influence on their perfect kids at that stupid high school. the stiles who drinks and smokes too much in a gang from the 'wrong side of the tracks' but they have-to-feel-sorry-for-him-because-his-mother-is-dead-and-his-father-abandoned-him stiles. but that's not who i am. that's what they make me. but it's just not me. don't ask me how i know; i just do.

i knew it when i was crying in the bathroom at some lame ass party a couple days after my mom was buried, intoxicated out of my mind fucking screaming out the window for her to come back until my mouth was raw. i knew it those three weeks before christmas when i was fucking whatever girl would come near me and hanging out my window smoking pot at four in the morning, the darkness enclosing me and the cold breeze giving me a refresher as a naked girl lied sleeping in a drunken haze in my bed.

i spent christmas day completely wasted—slumped in an armchair in my stupid apartment that my dad pays for silently, never even coming to visit. i puked my guts out all over the ugly as shit carpet that was the color of vomit anyway, having ordered chinese and eating it too quick. i ended up on the floor with alcohol poisoning, since a bottle of whiskey and a couple strong vodka sodas don't go down well. by the time my best friend scott found me the next evening, i was lying in my own vomit passed out cold with blue lips. he fucking freaked, called our other friend allison and they both picked me back up. i ripped out that ugly green carpet after that.

allison and i go way back, all the way to kindergarten when we both had shit parents and neither of us could read. i know she only cares, but sometimes she's too fucking bitchy to realize that there are better people out there for her to be friends with. she has all these political views too and would rather eat lunch alone reading than with anyone else. but either way, she's my best friend.

scott moved here, Beacon Hills, in the seventh grade and i ran into him when he joined the football club. allison met him in art class and they hit it off. we've all been inseparable ever since, but sometimes it seems like there's something more between them.

it's april now, and i haven't touched a drink since. i wouldn't dare—it just fucks me up and i don't wanna do that to myself. i was only seventeen just last week. yes i'm swallowed pretty much entirely by this weird darkness inside of me that makes me feel like death sometimes, but if i could touch a drink again or live, i'd rather live.

which now that i think about it does sound a little hypocritical considering i'm currently about to jump off a fucking bell tower, at least it looks like i am. i'm not really, i swear. i just wanted to see the sky from up here. it must be around seven and the sun is setting. it looks like the town is burning under this napalm sky and for once, i wish that it wasn't because it looks more idyllic from here and it isn't meant to be in the slightest.