A suicide note I’ll never use.. And why.

It’s my own fault I’m in this mess. I can think back to so many decisions I’ve made that got me here. Like that first cut, or that first handful of pills, or that first group home. There really is no hiding the fact that I did this to myself. I’m paying for that now, and would continue to for the rest of my life. Seems like a selfish reason to take my own life, but it’s my choice, it’s my life. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, been trying to talk myself out of it, but what’s the point? I feel like I’m stuck in a bubble. People can see me but no one bothers to notice me. I feel trapped. I feel cut off from the rest of the world. Alone. Just me and my thoughts. I feel like I can’t connect with people. I feel unreal. Like I’m someone’s hallucination. I feel clouded. Forgotten. Why would I be remembered anyway though? I don’t want to exist anymore. I just can’t connect with people. I don’t belong. I’m sure I’m doing everyone a favour anyways. To anyone who may be affected by my death; don’t be. I was nothing.

I wrote this note a couple of months ago; I remember the day very clearly actually. I stayed home from school all week, didn’t feel like getting out of bed. It was raining and looked rather gloomy outside, the rain seemed to, not just make everything wet, but soak everything to its core. I was laying in bed, staring at my turn table that held our endless numbered days by iron and wine. I thought to myself; in the grand scheme of things I am nothing. Which is still true. But it’s true for everyone. On our own we are nothing, but together, oh boy, are we ever something. And that’s why I’ll never use this note. Because maybe my life doesn’t matter all that much. And my life will just be completely simplistic and meaningless. But I don’t care. I was put on this earth just like everyone else. Maybe for punishment, maybe for something else. None the less, I am here for a reason. We are all.