The aching voices inside my head. The constant repeating, the never ending pain. The things they put into my head killed me from the inside.

They set me up to be the person I am now. They told me everything I believe I am currently, and sadly, they were right. They were right! That's the one thing they all got right! I don't deserve to be on this earth anymore.

I was staring in a mirror, bloody fingerprints all over it. Glass shards on the bathroom counter. Bloodied razor blades in the drawers. Pills in the cupboards.

The mirror had cracks all over. Shattered by my appearance. I really was fucking ugly. My mascara ran all over my face. My makeup smeared, my cheeks stained with tears. Why had I let myself live this long.

This world was hell, it's not like anyone ever cared. It's not like anyone ever liked me. It's not like anyone ever wanted me. It's not like I'm important.

Peoole only notice when something dramatic happens. They are too late to save you from the hell; you've or anyone else has shaped for yourself. They don't care for your wellbeing.
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​Here I am, in an isolated world. No one can see my struggles, or hear me cry. No one communicating with me, trying to help.
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There I was standing on a chair, a rope tied around my neck. Without any final words, I jumped off of the chair. Taking the last breath of air I would ever have. Slowly suffocating, and suffering a long and painful death.

They won't miss me.

My eyes then flashed open.