Funny, really.  I’ve been thinking about suicide for so long now.  I can’t remember the last day I hadn’t.  I’ve just been wallowing in depression. It’s the gloom I can’t shake, and in the back of my mind sticks the chanting call of “Do It.” Suicide, suicide. Put it to an end.

I have no family. I have no friends, and with the hate I have for myself I don’t see myself making any.  So, why not?

Life has been abysmal, and despite my efforts I am something pitiful.

There had been a time when there was a person in my life, the only person I could really say I was close to and in opening up about my suicidal thoughts the reply was that maybe it was the best thing. Maybe.

The thoughts were always that non-existence would be better than this conscious life, drained of all hope and ambition.  The thoughts have changed though.

Lately it has been odd.  The thoughts are still suicidal but they don’t end in absolute death, and the thoughts are actually talking to me. Devoid of all sanity, the thought is saying that suicide is the answer to a better life. Now, the thought is not me making an attempt at suicide to get attention and the help I need, but rather my death and revival.





I wish I had continued with school so that I’d be able to write out what I feel with distinction, or at least in a way that it didn’t appear as rambling with bad grammar and punctuation.

I don’t have a lot to say except that a certain sadness hangs over me, and that I am weak. No, scratch weak.  I am pitiful.