-Phil's POV-
[Huge Trigger Warning-suicide.]
I had some old antidepressants from about two years ago that I decided to throw in just in case. I just downed the whole bottle. I don't know how many were in there, I didn't even know if they were gonna do anything but I didn't care. After all, they were antidepressants, maybe I could at least die happy. I didn't know if that was possible at this point though...
I felt pretty stupid because everything felt so cliché. Me feeling bad for myself, me writing notes, me taking pills, me dying. It's like every stereotypical suicide ever. Except nobody will miss me. Nobody will even care that I'm gone.
Maybe me writing the notes was a last cry for help. I guess I wouldn't have written them if I didn't think Dan and Meghan cared at all. Or maybe it was just because they deserved an explanation. I'm not sure, but with the entire bottle of pills downed, I didn't have time to go back and change my mind.
I grabbed a medium sized blade out of the tub and drug it across my ankle to see how sharp it was. It broke the skin without me even having to press that hard. Small bubbles of blood starting forming between the line and slowly began dripping down to my foot. I sat and stared for a few minutes. At least as long as it took the small cut to clot up. I was amazed. This was the last time I would get to see my own blood. This was the last time I was going to feel that sharp scratch of the blade being dragged across my skin. Because hopefully, as soon as the blade hit my arm, I would just drift off.
I grip the blade tightly between my thumb and my first finger and line it up against my arm. I take a deep breath and drag it down my arm vertically pressing as hard as I can until my body forces me to let up.
"Fucking hell!"
I didn't know if I could do it.
I got about halfway down my wrist and I had to stop. The pain was excruciating and my eyes were watering. The cut was pretty deep and was already starting to bleed everywhere. There was a moment of regret. What if I could get past this and have a semi happy life? What if Dan would understand and still want to be with me? What if?
It didn't matter. It was too late to turn back.
I switched the blade from my right hand to my badly shaking and bleeding left hand. It hurt to move my arm, even just to pick it up, but I'm so fucking done with life I didn't even care. I force myself to place the blade on my right arm and give myself a countdown.
"One, two, three..."
Again, I pushed as hard as I could whilst practically screaming at the top of my lungs. The pain, in an odd way, actually felt good. I wanted more of it but at the same time I just wanted everything to stop.
What had my "life" come to? I'm laying here like a fucking pathetic baby in a puddle of blood, crying because I just sliced my own arms open because I'm so fucking selfish and I just wanted to be done with everything.
Maybe the antidepressants were making me drowsy, or maybe I was just tired because I was covered in so much fucking blood. Either way, I was tired and I was ready.
I laid back on my bed, positioning myself in a comfortable position and closed my eyes.
The pain was astronomical but it was slowly starting to fade. The last thing I remember was Dan's distraught face in the Diner.
A/N
Hey sorry for a graphic-ish chapter. I hope that nobody struggling read this, but if you did, I am sorry. Please don't be afraid to reach out. help is always there.