It’s scary to realize that the people who feel like us are the ones who commit suicide.
We’re the ones who are told to smile as the color is drained from our world. The ones who are called ugly. Fat. Stupid. Annoying. Freak. The lightning rods, the court jesters, the beaten and bruised. The ones with “no life,” because we’re too afraid of it being ripped apart. The sociopaths in the wings, watching as the world turns faster than us.
We’re the ones who wake up when we didn’t want to. The ones who, morning to night, argue with the ghosts in our heads, fighting for what could’ve, should’ve, would’ve happened, wishing and if-only-ing. The ones with devils on both shoulders, with angels beckoning at the end of a tunnel that never ends.
I know you’re stuck in the black hole. Every nerve raw and numb, frayed with overuse. Family, friends, lovers, all saying they’re there for you, but you’re not there for them. I know you’re looking for an answer. Listen to me.
Drugs aren’t the answer. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Partying and sleeping around isn’t the answer. Death is an answer, but it isn’t the answer.
You need to help yourself. Give yourself reasons to stay alive. Make your own reasons to stay alive. Create something - art, music, crafts, memories - and hold on to them. Pull yourself out of the pit. And don’t ever regret building yourself up, especially in a world filled with people putting each other down. One day you’ll be able to stand proud, in a life you made for yourself, and feel no regret for what you did. You can make it.

