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A/N: Depression, anxiety, suicide, self harm etc. trigger warning. If you believe it would be harmful to yourself to keep reading, you're not obligated to continue.



I wanted to run, to run until my lungs would burn and my legs gave out.

But I didn't.

I walked slow, my feet feeling as though they were cement blocks dragging themselves across the concrete. Even my body didn't want to go on anymore.

Everything around me was a dreamlike state. I didn't feel like a person, no, I wasn't a person. I was pounding against the soundproof barrier in the back of my mind, telling myself to stop, that I knew better. But I couldn't seem to hear that tiny voice calling for me.

I was looking through the eyes of a young man, one who had completely given up.

Eventually, I found myself back at my house, I didn't really know how I got there, though.

I was numb.

Completely, and utterly, numb.

There was no other word for it. What had happened to my feelings? My emotions? Where did they go?

I dug in my dresser, and found the razor blade.

The one I had used long, long ago on myself to inflict the pain I had felt I deserved.

Lacey found out and made me promise to never use it again. I could still see the tears in her eyes as she yelled at me.

I put down the blade.

I wasn't going to use it, never again.

After all, it wouldn't do anything anyways. I needed a more permanent solution.

To end it all...

The thought of killing myself should've evoked a little fear in me - but it didn't. I felt nothing.

There was one person I knew that would care if I were gone, and I'd let her down, just like everybody else.

I took out my phone, and clicked on Lacey's contact.

It rang until she answered.

"Where ar-"

"-Lacey," I cut her off, the pain obviously lacing my voice.

All of this wasn't because of Keith, if anything, I didn't blame him. it was because I had given myself hope one too many times, and this was the world's way of telling me to stop.

"I can't do it anymore."

"Max w-"

"-I love you. Goodbye."

I looked under my bed, with tears streaming down my cheeks as I looked for them.

The pills.

They were a heavy dosage medication I was on awhile ago for panic attacks.

There was still half a bottle left.

Was I really going to do this?

Was I ready to end my life?

This wasn't something I'd ever be able to come back from.

My eyes burned as tear drops fell down into my hands that were holding the capsules, getting some of them wet.

A little love could've changed my life completely. Now I knew that it would never come my way, and my life would be a constant cycle of loneliness and disappointment, I'd be drowning in it for the rest of my existence.

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