This is something I felt I needed to do. I can't really explain, it; but writing's a release from all the pressures around me. I don't expect anyone to want to read this. This is for myself, I'm not writing this for anyone else specifically. Thank you.
It started one day. I suddenly woke up, and realised what a rubbish place this world is to be. I suppose I must have felt like this for some time, but I don't keep track of the days. At the moment, it seems as if my life is just one long drawn-out day, that nobody can put an end to. I've tried everything to make me feel better, but not a single person understands. I found something that makes me feel better for a little while. I cut myself, but nobody cares. Everyone knows, and they try to help, but they can't see what's going through my head. It releases me; makes me feel as if someone's there to protect me. This little cocoon of self harm.
I know my life is a lot better than most people's. My parents love me more than life itself, and my friends know about my 'problems'. But I can't help thinking that the world would be no different if I were not here. Life would go on. Sure, my family would be sad for a little while, but they'd get over it, wouldn't they? It wouldn't make any difference if I died tomorrow. People say that they would miss me, but I doubt it. I don't think they really care that much. They could watch me die, and still be able to sleep at night.
I think that if I tried to end my life, I would do it with a gun. It would be quick; a bullet to the head. I'm not in it for the pain. I just don't want to exist any more. I could deal with the split second of mind-numbing pain. I've become used to it. It doesn't scare me any more. I wouldn't be able to do it with pills. What if I woke up, and realised that I had failed? It's the same with hanging. Even if I did die, I wouldn't want to inflict the horror of finding me on anyone. They don't deserve to have the sort of feelings I have thrust upon them. That would be cruel.
Sometimes I catch people looking at my scars. They stare, open their mouths as if to say something, then walk away. It's like it's utterly taboo to cut oneself. I feel totally alone; like I'm in a room full of people, but invisible all the same. One person might have the guts of ask me how I got them, but I can't tell them. I just shrug and walk away. And then they know. I can see it in their eyes. They're thinking 'Freak'. I'm not a freak. I just can't deal with all the suffering in the world. I cut because I have to. Not for any other reason.
I am normal. Perfectly normal. On the outside. Inside, I'm bitter and twisted. I want to die to get away from these thoughts of mine. Dark thoughts, that make me have to cut to put up with them. I can't see myself having a future. My whole life has been a tragedy. So, for when I decide to go through with the inevitable, I want my family to know that it wasn't their fault. It was me that was wrong, not them. Now all I have to say is goodbye. I won't go quite yet but for when I do, I want you all to know that I didn't enjoy my life. If I did, I'd still be here. It's better this way. Goodbye.