“I am genuinely paranoid that everyone secretly hates me and thinks I am really annoying and ugly and is pretending to be my friend and it’s all part of some big joke.”



Okay.  I’ve given myself until my 27th birthday. I’ll find a reason to live, whether it’s genuine love, or just some sort of ambition, drive, determination to achieve a goal, or even to just have a goal in mind.  I find this reason to live or I will check myself out.

I know that they say suicide is selfish.  Sure, but I don’t really have anyone else to think about.  There’s Arthur, the closest thing to family that I have, who I’ve talked to and has told me that if it comes down to it, he will understand.  Other than him, there’s no one.  There’s nothing else.


After my years of hiding any and all emotion, closing myself off to all things, there’s a woman that I have feelings for. She’s beautiful, kind, and yet quite feisty. A perfect combo. She also revealed, in a fit of anger with me, that she recently had a visit to the emergency room after a failed attempt at suicide. Surprising that the woman I may love is at such a low when she presents herself at an opposite to me.  Social. Chipper.  Though they do say that some of the most depressed hide it so well. Also an opposite as I don’t hide anything.  I’ll let you know that I’m down. “Hey, buddy.  Guess what I’m thinking about.  Killing myself.” Laugh out loud.

Anyway.  I hope she doesn’t kill herself.  I know that she couldn’t care less about me, (I don’t either) but I think that she is amazing, and I hope that she finds whatever she needs to keep her going.


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.