"My Secret Suicide"

To keep a secret suicide secret you mustn't tell anyone, but what about when you're trying to comfort someone who is thinking about suicide and you're sitting there popping pills into your mouth? How about when you're telling the one you love that "everything will be okay" but what they don't know is that your hands are shaking and you can feel yourself dying? Maybe at the moment they start to feel better and you can hardly reply because the keyboard is spinning and you can see the little girl staring at you from your bed, knowing that you're giving in? Trying to focus on the two open chat boxes, one full of suicide and no grammar so the other person can tell that you're crying and you can't see right, the other full of hope and fictional smiley faces, is harder then it sounds. Aren't you happy now? Aren't you happy that I'm giving you what you want you selfish little girl? Thank you. Thank you. I love you too. My mouth is going dry and I can't swallow the last pills though I really, really want to. I just want the pain to stop, how am I supposed to make my girlfriend feel better if I'm over here swallowing a bottle of Carbamazepine?

None of my friends or family would be able to understand why I am doing this to myself. Why I was telling one person that everything will be okay and she'll get over her Major Depression while I sit here wallowing in self fucking pity trying to down the last two pills; I like how I say that I don't need to die--then I try to.

I just want the pain to stop...

"I fucking know already... Shut up..." The words rumbled in my head because I wasn't really paying any attention to them, I was paying attention to the fact that I couldn't really see the letters I was typing or see the replies about where ever the conversation was leading, only because I was scared, which I frankly don't remember.

The guilt of wanting to end my life, of wanting to end it all, of feeling the life being torn from my body made me want to die even more. The realization that I was giving in to the words and the hate and the pain that she radiated made me feel even sadder, like a wound that salt is being poured into--minus the healing. I felt like a festering wound that wouldn't stitch up correctly, opening and opening until you could see the white bone, like a bruise that never seems to go down in swelling, like a bug that needed to be killed, a mad dog that needed to be put down. I felt like a doubt, a very highly thought about doubt, a doubt that one would think about then want to die for thinking it. I am not picture picture, I understand that, I am not all the way happy, yes I know, but I shouldn't feel like this, should I? Why was I doing this? Because I am hurting inside. Why couldn't I just tell Annie what I was doing? Because she needed me more then I needed her right now. Why didn't I stop? Because I wanted to die.

Though the thought of death scares me, I didn't care. I needed to do this and although I know now that I didn't I kept swallowing bitter, dryness. Once I said my goodbye's to each party, closing each text box I felt sick, I felt tired, I almost dragged myself into bed but I didn't. Instead I did something I didn't think I would do. I sat there staring at the girl on the bed as she curled her head into her arms waiting to die, just like I was but then something happened. Just like that I became frantic and scared, maybe realizing that there is nothing truely after death (in my beliefs), maybe realizing all the things I'd be leaving behind, all the people I'd be hurting. It felt like there was a shockingly comforting hand being wrapped around my arm and lifting me up.

Don't give up...

Though at the moment I didn't realize it to be in my head, I thought it was Dani but at that moment I got up, went into my bathroom and puked up the still undessolved, little, white pills known at one to help me sleep for a certain amount of hours now known to be the weapon of my suicide. After I spit up the acid I felt empty, wanting to eat something but not being able to, wanting to catch my breath as I puked once more as to make sure that I would wake up the next morning. The demon in my brain had started to overwhelm but now, once returned to my dark room, she wasn't there. It was then I realized that the voice telling me not to give up wasn't Dani it was an older woman, the one who left second in the complex line of hallucinations. Mary was her name and when I was younger she would tell be that everything would be okay and I can sleep, I would immediatly fall asleep. So I suppose after seeing the struggle I was having she helped me once more, knowing this would end soon.

Hearing Mary's tender voice gave me hope in a way that there is some kind of light under the black muck, a light through the clouds, but then again if I'm getting better why am I hearing her voice amoung the others, why is one more, though sweet, voice being added to the rest?

...Youwon'tgetbetterYou'recrazyYou'resickAnniewon'tloveyouifyoutellherShe'sgonnahateyouForeversalongtimetobecrazyWhyaren'tyoudeadyetKillyourselfKillyourselfyouselfishbitchDieDieDieGocommitSUICIDE...

Though it may seem to the untrained ear and untrained eye that these whispering voices may be saying nothing and maybe they aren't saying anything but to me I hear the words clearly and they ring, whisper, overlap, their angry at me. These voices keep me up at night, but I'm supposed to believe that I'm getting better? Mary's voice is buried under the other, my iPod is with my mother, my nails are in the wall, my knees are up to my chin and I realize that it's afternoon, though it was just nighttime. Where did I go? Why are there markings in my wall? Why am I crying? How long has it been?

"I want the pain to stop..."