Own Sweet Suicide

I laid my eyes upon her, my eyes filled with vengeance and hatred. I sit here, staring at him and she barely acknowledges me. I'm civil to her, is any of it returned? What I did to her to deserve this is beyond me. If she'd have slapped me, punched me or even stabbed me - it would have stopped hurting, it would have taken awhile but eventually it would have stopped hurting. But what she said to me, I'll never forgive, nor shall I forget. I glared at the woman I hated. She smirked at me, then turned away as if I wasn't worthy of her prescence. I hated her, but at the same time - I hated the fact she hated me. I wanted her to like me but that doesn't mean I have to like her...

I turned away from her and continued writing. My English coursework, a short story about a mad person who kill someone, sounds interesting to say the least. As much as I tried, I couldn't push her out of my mind. She was the reason for my life being hell. She doesn't know it, but if she hadn't said to me what she had said, then my life would be so much easier, less stressful, simpler even.

After all she did for me. She helped me with everything. The best friend I've ever had. Ever will have. And she still hurt me. She knew it would hurt me. She still said it. What is it about me that forces people to be pushed away? Why can't I keep someone close to me? My eyes filled with tears at the mear thought and gave up attempting to concentrate on anything. I shoved all my work back in my bag and walked out of the libary. Continued walking out of school. I continued walking until I was away from everyone I hate and everyone who hated me. Who made my life hell. But barely acknowledged that they did so. I hate my life. I hated me.

After a few hours I was barely aware of where I was walking to. All the streets, roads, shops all merged into one I was completely lost in thought. I could have walked miles for all I knew. I didn't stop, even though I had no idea where I was going. I didn't stop. I just continued hoping that maybe I'd do something whilst walking. Maybe end up under a car, bus, van whatever. Something. Maybe, I should sort this out myself.

Maybe if I want to end it I should do it myself.
Maybe, ending everything is the only answer.
Who'd care?
Honestly, who'd actually care if I was dead?
The only person who I thought cared about me just proved that she really doesn't.
The only person who I care about more than anyone I've ever met has proved she doesn't give a damn about me.
Maybe I should just do it.
Just to make her happy...
Is she really that worthit?
Yes.

***

I layed awake thinking about her. I couldn't sleep at all. Tossing and turning until I eventually gave up. I wandered downstairs and flicked through the channels on the television for what felt like hours, in reality ten minutes. I stayed there, wanting sleep to stop being a stranger to me and just let me sleep. This was killing me. The tiredness was killing me. I need some caffiene. I really, really, need some caffiene.

I got up and shoved on a coat closest to hand, I went for a walk, clear my head. Sort out my thoughts. I was walking for hours. Barely aware of where I was going with a sickening feeling that I'd been here before. I was so tired that my legs could barely hold my weight anymore. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I just sat down in the middle of the street, it was dark, it was freezing cold. I had no idea where I was. And no way of getting home. I was stuck here. For as long as it took for me to realise where I was.

Would my mum be worried? Doubt it. She couldn't give a fuck about me.
Dad? No way.
He'd rather help out a fucking bottle of whisky.

I sat there and burst in to tears, no warning, I was just crying heavily and couldn't stop. My mind was filled with thoughts of what could happen and what was happening. My imagination was creating possible scenarios all which seemed to real and scared me so much. Too much. The thoughts that surrounded me as I thought about everything made me feel like I was mentally ill. Which any other person would think, but they don't understand.

No one else understands.
How could they?
The tears finally stopped, but my breathing just got heavier.
My breathing became so much harder.
Everything was going blurry.
I could barely breathe.
Everything was going dark.
And no one here to help me.
As always.

***

Months past, years past without much events. I was still becoming depressed, suicidal daily. Life was still being as fucked up as always. Only difference being that I'd left school, that's one good thing at least but it made my dad worse than ever. I was in hospital again. This time with broken ribs. They where keeping me here, just because of a few scars on my arm. That's all. I won't tell them who I am, where I live. Or why the scars where there. I didn't say anything. My parents didn't even try and look for me. Shows how much they care.

I layed in my hospital bad shocked at that fact that they hadn't put me in a straight-jacket. Or a room with padded walks even. But all the looks as if I was going to top myself at any moment where just as bad.

I needed to get out of here. As quickly as possible. I didn't care what would happen to me as soon as I got home. Anything was as bad as this. I need to get out of here. I needed to. I walked over to the window and watched. I was looking out of the window for a way out of here. There must be a way I could get out of here. I turned round and looked out of the window - I'd never get out of here with Queen Bitch on patrol. I'd have to wait a few hours... But I will get out of here. I will.

***

Years pass. College, that was a waste of fucking time. Highschool? Barely scraped a couple of GCSE's failed everything else.
Thanks to all this I couldn't get a proper job.
Just sat here in a falling apart bedsit that I don't even have enough money to keep.
So here I am.
Sat here with a needle of heroin in my arm.
My whole life has been building up to this moment.
I sit here pressing the needle into my arm and press down hard.
Everything goes black.
The end.
Finally.