Going down?


Every day, I wake up, wanting to slit my wrists rather than face the possibility of having to deal with people I don't like. Every fucking day I want to die. Every day I keep looking back to that razor blade. Every day I want to carve something new into my flesh, watching the blood flow smoothly as the pink skin turns to red, then to white, then to blue as the circulation slows and eventually stops. Every day I want to get a gun and put it to my head. Every day I want to scream at the top of my lungs in the middle of the busiest part of town while I slit my own throat with razor wire. Every day I consider the possibility that suicide is the only real answer. Every day I keep edging closer and closer to that final moment where I finally snap and just start hacking chunks of flesh out of my wrists. Every day I want to end it. Every day I find yet another reason to end it all. Every day I want to just blow the fucking world up. Every day I wish we would just nuke ourselves out of existence, just so nobody can say that I gave up. Every day I find that life is less and less a gift, but more a test. Every day the world seems just a bit darker and deeper, every day I want to kill someone. Every day I want to go out and just mow people down. Every day I find something interesting that makes me look deep and angsty. Every day I feel like a poser. Every day I just want it all to go away. Every day I find myself more and more alone. Every day I find myself more and more unwanted. Every day I try to find love. Every day I find hate. Every day I curse God's name. I curse God's followers. I curse God's creation. I don't believe in God. I can't believe in God. A peaceful, merciful, loving son of a bitch. Every day I want to kill something. Every day I become more and more bored with reality. Fuck reality. Reality sucks. Every day I find that the pain is too overwhelming. Every day I find that pain is my only escape. Every day I try and reason why I haven't just killed myself yet. Every time I'm asked I keep giving the same lame answer. Every day I want to end the world. Every day I find that there is nothing for me to be here for. Every day I just need to find a release from this fucking life. Every time I find something that evens me out, makes me want to stay alive, that thing ends up fucking me over somehow. Every day that I go outside of my room, or away from the sanctity of my own privacy, I find someone who, for some reason or another, has a problem with me. Every day I find more and more people who have "found" God and all his "glory" or however the hell they put it. Every day I want to strangle those people and burn their house down with that beloved book they call the bible. Every day something inside me claws at my sanity. Something, clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Clawing. Trying to shred through me and wreak it's havoc upon the world. I'm afraid to face life. Life is nothing to me anymore. I don't care about other people. Every day I find another reason to just say how much I hate it all. Every day I want to just kill someone. Even as I write this right now, all I want to do is just go, get my razor blade, cut crosses into my wrists, go outside, and lay in the virgin white snow, and watch as my crimson blood stains it. Every day I find someone talking to me about something I don't care about. Every day I want to beat that person with a baseball bat. Every fucking day I want to die. Every fucking day, that fucking clawing just tears at me. My heart is gone. My mind is lost. People have told me that they hate me, think I'm ugly, I'm fat, I'm a horrible person, I have no life, or I'm a loser, and every day I find myself agreeing with it. I don't want to fucking die, but I can't find out what else I want from life. I've always said the meaning of life is death, and I'm thinking that maybe that what I've heard from various places about why we die is true. Maybe if we do figure out the meaning of life, why we're all here, why we drudge on and on endlessly destroying everything around us, maybe if we figure this out, we die. Well, there's nothing around me that will kill me anytime soon, except for myself. Maybe if I just took the initiative on it, I'd find release. I don't care if there is a heaven. I don't care if there is a hell. I don't care if there is nothing. I don't care if I come back. All I know is that I'm sick and fucking tired of being here. I claim to love pain, but it's not the same type of pain I'm in. The pain I'm in is spiritual and emotional. I've nothing to love. I've nothing to look forward to in the end. I've nothing except my void of a "soul" and a fucking cigarette. I'm here as a burden on others. I can't care for myself because I don't want to. I don't want to do anything except curl up in a little ball and die. The world is ending soon. If I can just wait it out, people won't think I'm a coward. But really, I'm just afraid to die. What if there is a hell, heaven, oblivion, or reincarnation. What the fuck will I do then? You can't escape that. It's the afterlife. It's not like you can just kill yourself all over again. I've seen nothing in my life. No miracles, no great feats, no reason for me to believe in anything. Pain is my escape. Pain releases me from my own hell. Pain is the reason I go on living. Pain is how I go on living. Without pain, I wouldn't know if I was here. Pain is the only sensation that leaves you with a sense of reality. Everything else is too surreal. I'm too quick to emotion, but I try and hide my emotions. I'm afraid of rejection. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of people. I'm afraid of life. What if someone finds me before I die, and they "save" me from my final release. What if I live through my suicide. What happens then? I get to sit around a bunch of people I don't know, who haven't experienced what I've experienced, telling me how to fix my life? How the fuck does this make sense to anyone? I'm going to sit around and listen to someone who wants to kill themselves as much, if not more than me, try and tell me that life is worth living? Fuck that. How the fuck am I going to get help from that? We have so many horrible things going on in our lives, that I just don't understand why the hell people even keep on going. What the fuck is the point of it all. Why? Why? WHY?! WHY THE FUCK AM I SO FUCKING SCARED! If I'm dead, I won't have to deal with people telling me that I'm no good, or that I'm a coward, or that I'm fat, or ugly, or whatever. Why the fuck am I so fucking depressed? What's so horrible about my life that I want to fucking kill myself. I don't fucking understand this anymore. I'm not fucking here for anything. I'm not fucking in love. I don't know what love is. What the fuck is it? SOmeone fucking tell me please. I want to fucking sede what's so awesome about life that I would want to stick around here and experience all the hells of existence. Why the fuck am I so fucking pissed off at everything. Why am I fucking still here? Why the fuck am I typing this? Whe the fuck do I swear so much? What is my fucking problem. The saying "Everything will work out in the end" is a lie. Nothing works out. If it did, then whe the fuck are there so many problems? If everything works out in the end, then what about all the people before us' end? What went wrong after that? It was their end. Why are we still so messed up. I mean, how the fuck can this be real? This can't be real. I don't understand life. Life makes no sense because life has no point. I can't see a point to living. I can't see a point to breathing. I can't see a point to anything. Where the fuck is my love? Where the fuck is my peace? Where the fuck is my anything. I don't own anything. I haven't done anything to deserve anything. I haven't done anything. What the fuck did I do to those fuckers in the second grade who fucking teased me? What the fuck did I do to those assholes to fucking tried to kick my ass? What the fuck did I do to my dad to get him to beat me? Why the fuck do I care anyways? I don't fucking understand anything about this life. Why? That's my fucking question. Why? Why anything? Why? If I wanted to fucking know, I'd find out, but I don't care anymore. I'm typing this because it's supposed to releive stress and anger. It's supposed to help. It's not working. I want to kill myself more. I can't answer any of these questions. I don't fucking know. I don't know anything. I don't fucking understand this. Why the fuck should I be here? What's my reason to live? What's my purpose here? As far as I can see, I don't have one. I've determined that I will only stay alive long enough to get laid. If I don't feel that life is good enough to stick around for after that, then I'm ending it. If life is still so fucking horrible that I want to put a gun to my head in front of my family and friends and pull the trigger, then it's over. Fuck this. I'm here until I reach my goal, and my goal is to get laid. After that, if I can't see another reason to live, then I'm fucking out of here. Fuck you all, you didn't do anything for me and I didn't do anything for you. We shared nothing. We have nothing in common. We are all different, but at the same time we're all the same. Maybe the world was perfect once. Maybe life wasn't always so bad. I'm sure even God has thought about suicide, if he even exists. What's the point? I talk about how I'd want omnipotence, but I really don't. All I want is to not want to kill myself. I want a reason to live. I need something to fucking stick around for. I have no want for childeren, because I know I couldn't raise one. If I had a child, it would probably either hate me, or be just like me. I wouldn't understand it. I know I wouldn't. I couldn't live with myself if I brought another person like me into this world. Ever since I was young, I've wondered why we're here. I've wanted to know why I should live. I've wanted to know how the fuck we got here. I've wanted to know many things. But at the same time, I don't want to know anything. All I want now is my razor blade and a bottle of vodka, and I've got both. I'll drown my life in alcohol and blood. Fuck life, it's worthless. There is no reason for any of us to be here. No fucking reason at all. If I had a reason to live, I'd probably actually give a fuck about human life. But I don't. If I just had someone to share life with, I don't think it'd be so bad. If I had someone that I knew would always be there to talk to, and I would be there to talk to them when they needed it. I'm fucking sick of it. Fucking christ, I don't fucking understand it. I'm fucking crying. Crying like a fucking little bitch. Why the fuck am I crying. Who fucking cares. I'm just so sick of it all. I can't fucking bring myself to do it though. What about my brother. I don't want him killing himself. I don't want my dad dying. I don't think my mom would even bat an eye. She'd act all surprised and shocked, but not a god damned tear would be real. I don't think my dad would care either. He'd probably just call me names and say how I was a fuck up in life, and bitch about how I killed myself. Fuck. If I die, I don't want to be identifiable. Fuck, when I die, I don't want to be identifiable.Fucking shit. Now I feel like a fucking poser, writing this for fucking attention. I don't know why the fuck I wrote this. It didn't help, it made me feel worse. All I can think about now is the blood slowly seeping from my wounds. I wish I just had something to fucking live for. Is that too fucking much to ask for? HUH? A FUCKING REASON TO LIVE! CAN SOMEONE FUCKING GIVE ME THAT!? No, nobody can give me that, I have to find one myself, and I'm sick of searching. Oh, what about all the friends you'd leave behind. Not one of them would care. They'd be over it in a week. They'd make "toasts" in my honor at their little "going away" parties. Fucking this man. I'm fucking sick of this... Fucking shit... I'm fucking about to ball. Why the fuck am I so pathetic. There's nothing here to live for. Nothing to look forward to. So many people hate me, or want me dead. So many people just don't care and it's starting to get to me. I've had people tell me they'd care if I died, but it's for selfish reasons, like they'd miss me or whatever. But they'd get over it. Fuck it. Why the fuck am I clinging to life so fucking hard? Why the fuck is my survival instinct kicking in? Why the fuck do I want to fucking fix things? Why do I care? I just want to kill someone. I don't know who, or why, or when, or how. All I know is that I want to watch someone's life being extinguished at my hand. I know it's wrong. I know it's fucked up. I know it's all just going to be written off as self-pity and attention whoring. But fuck man. I can't fucking stand this shit anymore. Who the fuck really even cares. Not a damn person. Fuck, I can't even write a good reason why I want to kill myself. I mean fuck, look at this shit. All it is is fucking swearing and bitching and it's me throwing a fucking pity party... I carved hate beauty into my arm, because I thought it'd be cool. I wanted to watch the blood seep out, flow down my arm, and I wanted to lick it all up. I want to care this into my arm, but it's too fucking long. Maybe I could get one of my friends to do it. They'd have to carve really small though, and nobody I know can write or carve good enough to not fuck it up. My friends all hate me. Fuck, I don't have any freinds. I have my brother. My brother cares. He's the only one, and I know he'd feel somehow responsible for it, and I don't want him to feel bad because I killed myself. I just want to disappear and then die. Tell people that I'm doing something great off in some country, somehwere, and if I don't come back, they'll hopefully just forget about me. I fucking hate this life. Why the fuck am I here? I've seen things, but I've witnessed nothing of importance. Nothing sublime. I learned that word today. I mean, really learned it. What it means. It's something of importance more or less, and I wanted to use it.
Continue to hell...