I'm new to blogging. I've never done it. A few days ago I decided that after 2 years of overwhelming sadness, I needed to write this down. It started as a suicide note. It became more of a journal. I still don't know if I'm going to do it. I'm not responsible for myself anymore. This is extremely long. It's a stream of consciousness style message. I haven't proofread. This is my mind over three days. I think depressed people just want to be understood. This is my attempt. Please, if you're in a dark place, read this. And please leave comments.

—

I tried. I don't know what else to do anymore.

Living alone leaves a lot of time to think. The last thing I need. I fucking hate everything. Everyone.

I love so many people. Unreciprocated. They can lie all they want. I'm not stupid. I know. I can see through the fakery. "You have so many people that care about you." BULLSHIT

I've laid here for hours at a time wondering what I did wrong. What got me here? I've tried to go above and beyond for everyone. I've tried to beg people to be my friend. I've attempted to pay people to be my friend. Fuck it. Fuck me.

I tried. I fucking tried.

I've preached against suicide since I've understood it. I called it selfish. I called it stupid. Stupid and selfish are better than sad and pathetic. I don't look forward to anything anymore. I lay here. Wondering what friends are doing. My parents. Sister. Probably texting a friend. Probably hanging out with a friend.

For me to come to this conclusion took thought. Maybe it would get better. Maybe someday people will realize how much I've tried. What I've done for them. What I'm willing to do. Anything. Anything at all. I've got nothing. Nothing.

Maybe God has a plan. Maybe all of these trials are a test. Maybe he only puts the strong through struggles. Keep praying. Survive the storm. Pray harder.

Maybe God's not real. Maybe people just make him up to help them deal with stress. Sadness. Death. Rejection. Ridicule. Anguish. Pain. Maybe it's just not enough for me. Maybe those people aren't as bad off. I'm worse. I struggle harder.

I don't want to believe it. I believe in God. I do. Did. I don't believe in anything.

They believe because they seek heaven. They don't do it because they want to. Out of the goodness of their hearts. They do it because they want to escape hell. They don't want to burn. I don't care. I'll burn if I need to. Anything is better than this.

I don't want hell. I can't conceive heaven. Neither is fine. I picture the afterlife as a dark expanse. Nothing but the sound of breathing. In. Out. In. Out. For eternity. Time to think. Time to fucking think.

I can't think anymore. Not clearly. I have good friends. It's not enough. I want more. I'm alone. There's no one here. They pretend to care. They don't care. Why would they? What have I done for them? Nothing. Everything. Fucking everything. I don't know. I've tried. I really fucking tried. I can't.

Why don't they like me? I've tried. I'm funny. I'm a joke. The punchline. Good for a joke. Goodnight.

I've fucking begged. Gave up my dignity. Confessed my feelings. I'm sorry. If you need anything, let me know. Thanks guys. I appreciate it. Done.

I'm the problem. I expect too much. They owe me nothing. Lucky they even speak to me. A text now and then. A snap. It's me. When you bug the living shit out of people you drive them away. Text me sometime. One way texting.

I need attention. I'll do anything for it. Anything. Everything.

The other night I laid in the floor. This was it. I couldn't do it. I had the knife. I held it to my wrist and froze. I couldn't do it. Too fucking cowardly to finish me off. Too afraid to keep going. No choice. Gotta fight it. For who? Parents. They'd get over it. Friends? Might come to the funeral. Would be sad two weeks. May mention me on occassion. Some joke I made. Hello. Was that too much? The shoes. Probably gay. Virgin. Never did get any. Probably wouldn't have anyway. Hate that he's gone. Fuck me.

My parents loved me. Wasn't enough. You chase after what you don't have and you lose what you do. Ignored them long enough. Stopped caring. Only love me because they have to. Chelsea. She'd be sad for a while. Maybe. A year. Five years. They'd keep my room. It'll always be his room. Burn it down. No memories.

Regrets.

Compliments. I've lived on them for months now. Stupid shit. Forcing people to say nice things to me isn't the same. Screenshots of texts. Sometimes I smile. Look before sleep. I'm pathetic. Sitting here smiling at my phone. Remembering that one time. I was only there because she was. Because I begged. Because they felt sorry for me. Because they couldn't live with themselves if they were honest and told me that I just bring everyone down. I might kill myself. Don't push him over the edge. He might do it. I might do it.

I promised I wouldn't. I can't. Fuck them. Fuck promises. I won't care about promises when I'm gone. Just do it. Take the whole bottle.

Fucking attention seeker. Why leave a note? I won't be there to see them read it. They'll feel awful. Do I want that? They'll see how this feels. Numb. I can't feel my shoulders. My hands are shaking. I'm cold.

Still no response. Read three hours ago. Fuck me.

Work. Sleep. Work. Sleep.

What could make me happy? A wife? Not happening. Ugly bitch. A kid? What kind of sick fuck has a kid for their own selfish reasons. Everything I do is selfish. Gifts. Texts. Suicide. They're better off. The initial sadness wears off, they don't have to deal with my ass anymore. Emotional. What's wrong? What's wrong, Chris? Nothing. Everything. Nothing's right. I'm going to hell.

I want cancer. I don't have to have the guts to end it. No one knows I wanted it. It was the plan. God's plan. My plan. My death will make it better. Important lessons. I die so they can start living. I slowly fade away. It's easier than doing it myself. Bring it on. I want fucking cancer. Brain cancer. Malignant. Stage 4. Brain cancer. I'll lose the ability to think.

This is all for attention. All suicides are. It's true. People will know me. They'll feel bad for me. Finally. I deserve it. I deserve shit. I deserve hell. If he really wanted to kill himself, why is a note important. Attention. Of course it was for attention. Finally. Attention. If only for a moment. In out in out.

Dead but my hearts still beating. Still walking. Working. Thinking. Trying. Numb. I don't care. I want it to be over. Die. I can't.

I loved deep. If they knew how deep they'd be sorry. They'll be really fucking sorry. I deserve that. I won't get it, but I deserve it. I know that. No one deserves this. I can't cry anymore. I want to. Any feeling. Pleasure. Pain.

I want them to find my body. Each of them individually. Remember the shit they said under their breath. After I left. I loved them. Still do. I wish them nothing but the best. I hope they find heaven. But I hope they're sorry. They should be.

—

I won't delete it. I felt it. That's me. I didn't mean it, but I did. I'm too harsh. They've tried. Everyone's tried. I've reached out for help and I've gotten it. Normal help. There is no help for me. I genuinely believe that everyone wasn't meant to be happy. Not everyone can be satisfied. For every bit of happiness that's in this world, there's equal sadness. I can't fault those that commit suicide anymore. They saw their way out. I wish I could. I honestly don't want to live anymore. I swear to God I mean it. But I can't do that to my family. My friends. Acquaintances? Friends of acquaintances?

Here's the way I see it: I have one. Sometimes. I thought I had two. Spent a whole week working on #2. Doing everything with them. Doing anything I could for them. Only making the jokes they would find funny. Sheltering them from my usual bullshit. The things I say that get a quick laugh and then silent criticism. Silent judgement. I went a whole week putting everything I could into it. At night I would lie there thinking about the good things from that day. When they laughed, when they didn't. What made them smile. What I could do to make the next day better. It was a week of happiness. A respite from the rest of my worthless life. But it ended. Sparks but no flame. I had done all I could, it wasn't good enough, and now I'm done.

You can't turn people into what they aren't. You can't expect people to be who you want them to be. It's not realistic. I understand that. It's on me. You can't rely on other people for your happiness. I knew that going in. I really knew that coming off. It's not their fault. You should pick friends based on who they are, not pick friends and make them into who you want them to be. I know that now and I'll stop trying. If I have to keep going, I'll take what I can get. I'll put myself through that torture. Laugh for an hour. Cry myself to sleep. I don't know another way.

The time to make friends is up. It's too late. You take the acquaintances, and try to laugh when they want you to, and shut up when they don't. And if they happen to say something nice to you along the way, you smile, say thank you, and crack another joke. You can't let them see you cry. Believe me, it doesn't work.

—

My biggest fear has always been that life will move on without me. Friends will get older. Get married. Have kids. Move away. Buy a house. Make new friends. We'll drift apart. It's how life works.

That won't happen for me. Not attractive enough. Not smart enough. Too much shit going on in my own head. I can't put anyone through this. Who wants the scrawny kid with no sense of style, a bad haircut and a fucked up personality. Oh yeah, I'm fucked up. I'm very open about it. It's a cry for help. Of course it is. If I say enough bad shit about myself out loud, someone is bound to say something nice to me. I live for that shit. I can see myself writing it down somewhere. Typing it in my phone. So and so thinks I'm funny. This person thinks I'm a 6/10. I'll lay here and absolutely eat that shit up. I'll say thanks and disagree. Maybe they'll fight back. It's a cry for attention. It's a cry for help. Help. Help. Please God help.

—

The only thing that is stopping me from killing myself is my mom and sister. Not because I love them the most, but because they would be the ones upset if I did it. It'd destroy them. Maybe Dad? Don't give a shit. Learn to be a father and I'll care about being your son. I've tried making others care, but it hasn't worked. Mourned and forgotten inside a week. Part of me wants to do something bad so that they'll stop caring. Something evil. Wicked. Kill someone.

Maybe I'll just leave. Leave the country. They'll be pissed. I kill myself over there, they find out months later. Done deal. Maybe.

—

I hate myself. The things I once liked about myself have faded away. I used to be so strong willed. Didn't care about others. "You can't rely on others to build your confidence". Now I'm weak. I'm weak and I crave attention. I did something awful today. It wasn't the first time. I got my attention. It was fun. For an hour. Now I lay here and feel disgusting. Worthless. Filthy. Guilty. But I'll do it again tomorrow. I swear to God I know I'll fucking do it again.

—

This started as a suicide note. I never believed I'd do it, but I was hoping that I could get my thoughts down on paper, read it at the end of the week, and then convince myself to do it. All of my thoughts and feelings on one document. People would feel guilty. Maybe sad. Wonder what they could have done to stop it. And that's exactly what I wanted. Right now I'm leaning towards no. I don't think I can. But tomorrow's another day, and I never can tell what I'll feel like tomorrow. Let's get the nice, typical suicide note out of the way:

This was no one's fault. I'm so sorry and I hope there's no afterlife for me because I won't be able to forgive myself for doing this to my family. I swore I wouldn't. You believed me. Chelsea made me swear I'd tell her if I even felt suicidal. Truth is, I've been feeling suicidal for 16 months now. But there's nothing you could do. No amount of intervention could stop this. I was looking for something unobtainable. Something that couldn't be obtained. It wasn't possible and it never was. I prayed to God every night, took every pill that I could, seeked help from friends – I couldn't get over it. The day this started, mom asked me what was making me sad. I told her I didn't know, that I honestly didn't know what it was. It just happened. We all knew it was a lie, but she "believed me". She was there and that means everything. I won't reveal what this was even now. I died with it because it was my only option. Nothing could have made it okay, and I refuse to ruin any good thoughts you have of me by telling you. It was twisted. Sick. I was sick. And now I'm healed. My message to everyone else is simple: I'm happy now, and you should be too. I'd tell you not to cry but you will. Even I know people loved me enough to cry for me. Maybe I'll see everyone again. I don't know if I believe or not, but I hope you all will. I loved you all more than you'll ever understand.

I don't want everyone to see the note. Immediate family and grandparents. Also the Wombats. They'll know who they are. I guess Mackensie. These are the only people who cared enough to at least make me feel wanted sometimes.

—

My sick secret will die with me. It may take me to hell if it exists. I can't be sorry because I can't help it. It's me. However long I end up living, I'll live with it. There won't be a day that goes by where I don't think about it. It'll slowly eat away at me until I'm nothing. It can't be cured. This desire can't be satisfied. Not only is it not feasible, but literally impossible. Still, the temptation remains. Keeping it a secret will lead people to assume the worst. Be my guest.

—

I used to have, and at the time I assume everyone had, a top 5 list. This list would include your favorite people. In my head, everyone's list was different. Some included family, some were exclusively friends. Up until recently I would randomly remind myself of my top 5 as a way of making myself feel like I had close friends. Then one day I talked with some people about it and decided I didn't want one anymore. I disbanded the top 5 list because I felt on that day for the first time I could no longer clearly rank my top 5. My top person was even in question. I remember feeling really good that I had that many people for the first time that I couldn't pinpoint a top 5. This group didn't include family. At that point I realized that none of my family were actually part of my top 5. Family became nothing. Family is genetic. That's all. And while I love my family, I felt no guilt in admitting to myself that they weren't there. If I had to pick 5 people in this world to save from a horrible demise, I wouldn't even save my family. For the next couple of days, I was happy. The list had been disbanded.

This is only a fond memory now. Whether right or wrong, justified or not, I now feel that the list has disbanded me. My top 5 still doesn't exist. I can't find 5 people I know that love me. That love me unconditionally. Unforced sentiment that has nothing to do with blood or predetermined bonds. The type of love that is so powerful you can't imagine your life without that person. But this type of love cannot exist in one direction. And therefore, my top 5 remains disbanded.

—

Unconditionally

I've been ignored. I've been insulted. I've been demeaned. I've been embarrassed. I've been persecuted. I've been guilt-tripped. I've been falsely blamed. I've been patronized. I've been abused. I've been hurt. I'm still hurt. It still hurts. It's hurting now. I've cried. I can't cry anymore.

You've been unfair. You've been inconsiderate. You've been absent-minded. You've been absent. You've been out of the picture. You've stayed on my mind. I've dreamt of you. You were better. You weren't so full of shit. You didn't lie to me. You were the friend I needed. The one I still need. The one I won't get. The one I don't deserve. The highlight. The gold standard. A role model. I look up to you. I gave you that power. You let me down. I'm disappointed, though I know just what to expect. I needed you. I still do. You won't learn. I don't think you can. I'll keep pretending you can. You'll keep showing glimpses of hope. I'll keep dreaming. And you'll never know. I care so much. Uncondtionally.

—

I want to get on. I really do. But I won't. This is a fun time. Not time to bring other people down.

—

I'm fine.

I'm fine is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. You're either good or you're bad. Fine is an excuse. I don't know why people accept that as a response.

I've been "fine" for a while now. No one asks questions. They're afraid to. "Are you okay?" "No. No, I'm not okay. I'm not fine." I'm broken.

People don't want to hear that, though. People are terrified. "How are you?" isn't a question. It's a greeting. People don't actually care.

I suck. That's how I'm doing. Life sucks.

I believed it for a while, though. Fake it until you make it. That's the advice I've been given. It's laughable really. But I've done it. I'll get on Xbox. I'll talk. Crack jokes. Laugh along. Sometimes I'll fuck up and accidentally have fun. That's what people feed on. As little as I think they care sometimes, I can't believe they don't wonder. "I wonder if Chris is okay? I haven't heard from him lately." Maybe they'll text a mutual friend. "I'm really worried about Chris." You want to know who would like to hear that? Me. Fucking me. Why is that sofucking hard?

No, if you laugh, they think you're fine. He's laughing. He's not miserable. He's not wondering how he could kill himself. He's having fun. So I've stopped. I won't laugh anymore. Not until I make a decision. Either I'll make it or I won't. But I won't fake it until then. The decision is looming. It's not so much an if as a when.

—

What if the roles were reversed? Would I know? Could I tell? Would I help? It's easy to say yes from here. No one can understand what you're going through. I know that.

That is, until you tell them. I've spilled my guts. Lost dignity. Lost respect. I'm screaming for help. HELP. But no one cares. I would care. I'd fucking care.

—

I hurt myself today,
to see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain:
the only thing that's real.
The needle tears a hole –
that old familiar sting.
Try to kill it all away,
but I remember everything.

What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
goes away in the end.
And you could have it all –
my empire of dirt.
I will let you down.
I will make you hurt.

—

I did it. I finally got the guts and I fuckin did it. Scratching. Biting. Bruising. Attempts at pain that lacked execution. I had drawn it with a nail multiple times. My own crucifiction. You could see it in a mirror but it was temporary. But today, I did it. You could see the cross that covered my torso. And I finally got the courage to break the skin. There was blood and I let it bleed.

—

I look back on fond memories often. Lie there, close my eyes and reimagine them. Wish I was there again.

—

This all started as a suicide note. I couldn't tell people this. But after I'm dead, they'll know. They'll know and they'll hurt. But the thing about suicide is that you have to actually kill yourself, and I'm too much of a bitch to actually do that right now. Yesterday I was convinced. Today there's clarity. This needs another purpose. I've thought about doing something like this for a long time. At first I thought I'd write a novel. I wouldn't try to get it published. I wouldn't even get anyone to read it. Or at least, not let anyone read it that actually knew me. I'd submit it to some blog under a fake name. I'd get feedback. I had came up with a pen name. I'd brainstormed ways to get it out there…to actually have readers. I could be good. I could help people. People would pity me. But I didn't. I'd start and then I'd delete everything I had. Can't take the chance of someone finding this. What would they say? You can't come back from someone reading something like this. One of two things would happen. Most likely both. Everyone that saw it would have a choice to make.

1. They show pity. Same shit they probably did before. "I had no idea it was this bad. If you ever need anything. Anything at all. Let me know." This is preferable. Preferable doesn't mean ideal. More later.

2. They freak out. "This fucker might actually do it. If he's crazy enough to right this – formatting and all – he's crazy enough to pull the trigger. To swallow the pills. To end it." They might call the cops. Tell my parents. What the fuck can they do? The lack of power they have over me makes me laugh. I swear to God that someone calling the nuthouse on me would bring me to a quicker end than anything.

3. No, there's a third option. The option that won't happen. Someone reads this. They understand the pain. They understand the purpose. They understand that all I want is understanding. They know that they have the power to change this. I've given them that. Whether they do or they don't is up to them. It's not their responsibility. But option 3 is real. Option 3 could happen. But it won't.

No, this may not end in suicide. I've set a date. No one can know the date. The date of decision. It's an arbritary date. I may not even remember it. Sometime that week maybe. But at that point I will act upon whatever decision I come to. My life changes one way or another on that day. This letter will make it out. People will see it. Before I kill myself. It's a pre-suicide note. I'll give it a week. People will see what I've gone through. I'll write it all down. The good and the bad. I'll let certain people see it. A small committee, let's say. People who could easily live without me, but people who have at least pretended to care. They'll think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy. They'll either pity me or they'll hate me. But they'll understand me. That's all I want. A chance for people to react. Suicides change lives of people around them. For the better or for the worse. But I know exactly what the purpose of this will be. This will be my own personal legacy. One final case study.

—

Update: I've talked to no one in nearly 48 hours. Just my parents and coworkers. Only because I have to. I've turned what was a really bad night into an experiment. Be sad. Depressive. Make others know. See if anyone gives a shit. So far – no. I've had one check on me, and even that was by accident. I think I made it too obvious. I don't want to have to ask for pity anymore. But she did check. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine."

—

What if I did tell them? I refer to the night I sort of told them as the night I lost my dignity. You can't drop that shit on people all at once. They couldn't take it. I can't take it. So I gave a small collection of people about 20% of it. I spared them the dark stuff. The things I do to get attention. The awful things. The ways I manipulate people into giving me attention I don't deserve. How close I've come to actually blowing my fucking head off. I've got a gun. Most of them don't know that, but I do. And if I do it, I'm gonna leave a mess.

No, I gave them a little. Let them chew on it. A cry for help. An honest cry. Just because I held back doesn't mean I didn't pour my heart out. And it worked. I got some words of support. Offers of help. Some phone numbers. And for a day or two they cared. I believe that. But then I fucked up and laughed and they didn't care anymore. See that's where people are wrong. People think it can be cured. He has pills. He seems fine today. Yeah, I'm fine right now. But after you leave I'll kill myself 500 times in my head. That's how this shit works.

If I told them everything they couldn't take it. I don't think. But the small chance that someone could. That miniscule chance that someone might finally open their eyes, that someone actually does want to step up and make a difference, wants to do more than go through the motions. That makes it worth it. That's why I won't chicken out. I'm letting people see this. Because it needs to be seen. I know I'll explode without it.

—

I like to think that I could have friends. Yeah, I could. But I don't want friends. I want specific friends. I think fundamentally that may be what's wrong with me. You see I have some people that message me all the time. They want to hang out. They're willing to tell me secrets. Give me trust. The things I look far. Problem is, I don't want them. I'm one of what I've found to be a select few people – a dying breed – that wants specific people. Most people find people they mesh with and build a friendship from that. That doesn't satisfy me. I have a picture in my head of what I want. I've picked those people. Those people know. I've forced myself upon these people. I've cried over these people. I WANT THEM. And if I can't have them, I'll have no one. It's all or nothing. I won't take a substitute.

Mom says, "Join eHarmony. Get on Match." I don't need "company". I don't need "someone to talk to". I don't want to "socialize". I want the specific socialization and company of the select few. I don't need some bitch that likes to watch sports and play video games. I don't want someone who likes what I like. They can be the polar opposite of me. I don't give a fuck. I know what I want. And regardless of if I can ever make it happen, I'm not changing.

—

So I've went back and forth all day about whether I should show people this or not. Not only could I lose everyone I have, it could really fuck people up. Ignorance is bliss sometimes. I don't want them to be like this. Fortunate but miserable. Lucky but bitter. So I've decided I'll give a choice. And it won't necessarily be a week. Today the meds helped. I can hold on a little longer. In order to get up the guts to send this out, I've gotta be worse than I am now. I'll wait until I'm bad again. Could be a week. A month. It won't be a month. But then I'll send it. Because I can't take many more of these episodes. That's my last resort. But I'll give them a choice. I've selected my committee. Four people. All from the same group. Some of my favorite people. My favorite person. The thing they all have in common? They could all live without me. I couldn't do this to someone if I didn't think they would be just as well off without me. Probably better. My relationship with these people is parasitic. I feed off of them. They provide me with joy. To them, I'm just there. I know that. They'd say it wasn't true, but I know better. May even be a couple that refute this claim outwardly after they read it. How sweet. The hope is that it changes. Most likely won't happen. But oh well. Maybe they will. They'll be empathetic, I'm sure. But they'll probably slowly pull away, and I won't blame them.

They'll get the chance to say yes or no. I'll explain what it is. "It's a suicide note. No, don't try to convince me not to. Not yet. Read it, and decide if I'm worth it. I won't fault you if you don't. You shouldn't feel bad if you want to walk away afterwards. That isn't the goal. I'll have no resent towards you. My love is unconditional. Choose wisely, though, because you can't go back. And it's long. It's really fucking long. I poured hours into this. Even if you hate me afterwards, and believe me, I said some horrible things about you, but even if you walk away. All four of you. It'll be worth it. Because I'll be understood. And that's all I've ever wanted."

—

I did it again. Two nights in a row. Anything for someone else's satisfaction. No, you don't get to know what it is. Maybe someday. I know. I disgust myself. But it makes other people so happy. And that makes me happy. The suffering I put myself through others. What I'm doing is illegal. Technically. The chances I get arrested? Slim. But even if I do I don't care. You don't give a shit about that stuff when you're already dead inside. I'm carefree. If I get arrested, if I die. Good for me. I think it's probably what I need anyway.

—

I'm cussing a lot. Just read through this. Wanted to delete half of it, but this is what I felt at that time, and it's staying. I've always refrained from cursing – not because it's bad or sinful, not because it's inappropriate. I've always felt that restraint was important. You can't let yourself do whatever you can. That's the beginning of the end.

Fuck it. Fuck the end.

—

Feet don't fail me now.
Take me to the finish line.
Oh, my heart it breaks,
every step that I take,
but I'm hoping at the gates
they'll tell me that you're mine.

—

I talked to God today. He didn't answer. I don't think God is an entity. I do think he's real. I think God is a concept. Something created all of this. Evolution can't start from thin air. Thin air can't start from thin air. God's real. I just can't fathom him being humanlike.

But we talked anyway. I answered back. What's the meaning of life? What should we strive for, because I'm running out of answers. Love? I've tried love. I've loved many people but I'm yet to get the love back I used to feel I deserved. To be happy? I'm not happy, God. I don't see a path to being happy. I'll probably live for another 50 to 60 years, and yes, maybe I find the right medicine that will ease the pain. I suppose there's an outside shot that I get married. Maybe have a child. See them grow up. Have grandchildren. Start their own lives. But for what? What am I working toward? Heaven? Even if Heaven is real, why should I strive for it? Streets of gold, mansions in the sky. That doesn't do it for me. I'm not sure I believe in Heaven.

But something happens after life. It has to. Not existing isn't feasible. I have to go somewhere. Will I just transition from existence to non-existence? Non-existence doesn't have an end. And if life is what I'm supposed to enjoy, if life is the pinnacle of happiness, if life itself is the reason for living. If life is the gift – what we strive for – then I don't want it. Take it back.

Please, God. Take it back.

—

I had a dream last night. It's a variant of a dream I've had a lot. A common dream, I think. I was in a crowd of people, but I was sleeping. Maybe the center of a mall. I couldn't move. I saw people I knew. People I loved. I wanted to say hello. But I couldn't. I started to sweat. I was doing everything in my power to communicate. No one even looked at me. There's a fucking bed in the middle of the mall, and no one even looked. I'm screaming out. Begging people to stop. Just look at me. Nothing. No sound. I woke up to the same nightmare.

—

Everybody loves the things you do,
from the way you talk,
to the way you move.
Everyone here is watching you,
because you feel like home,
you're like a dream come true.

So if by chance you're here alone,
could I have a moment,
before I go.

'Cause I've been by myself all night long,
hoping you're someone I used to know.

Let me photograph you in this light,
in case this is the last time
that we might
be exactly like we were before we realized,
we were sad of getting old,
it made us restless.
I'm so sad I'm getting old,
it makes me reckless.

—

I remember the day it happened, I had no idea it was happening. I'm a firm believer that depression is triggered. It doesn't happen over time. It isn't slow. It crushes you suddenly. There's no time to catch your breath before it happens, and you don't have a chance afterwards. Mine personally started out as physical pain. I woke up and realized I was numb in my shoulders. My back hurt. I had had an extremely active day the day before. A day I was busy. I had people to see. Things to do. But nothing on this day. I hurt all over. I fought it. I've never been a wimp. Suck it up, bitch. It got worse throughout the day. I started thinking. I realized why I hurt. Depression is physical, it's true. But the physical pain is only there to remind you that your life is over. Your life ended when that pain started. Your goal for the rest of your life is to survive. Go.

Of course I didn't know that at the time, but I quickly found out what it was. I had seen it before. It runs in the family. My mom has it. She's stronger than me. She carries it well. My grandma has it. She's old. She won't be around much longer and she knows it. Like me, she doesn't hide the fact she's depressed. But she knows. I don't see her as weak. Not mentally. Not where it matters. She knows that her life will never be happy again. She'll spend the rest of her life deteriorating physically, fading mentally. She knows that the rest of her life on Earth will be as a sad sack of shit that just lays there, waiting to be finished. She found God. I hope she's right. I hope there's more for her. She deserves it. But she's scared. You can tell.

That's what I have to look forward to. Difference is, I'm not scared. I'm unhappy. I'm miserable. I hurt. But I'm at peace. I know what life has in store for me.

—

If they mean it, they'll stay. I can't save myself anymore.

—

One feeling I still get is anxiety. Comes with the territory. Depression and anxiety go hand in hand. My anxiety isn't limited to my actions though. I was recently at a performance. This person was about to do something that I've never done. I don't think I ever could. Brave. I was proud. Like a father. Like a brother. Like a friend? I was emotionally attached. My heart was beating out of my chest and I didn't think I could stay. I almost left something that I would never want to miss. I couldn't take it. It was anticipation. I had too much time to think about it. Why was I nervous? I didn't have to do anything. I wanted this person to do well. I was going to love it no matter what, but I wanted everyone to love it. I wanted applause. That was me up there. When it started, I was teary. I was smiling. It was amazing. I've never been prouder.

It's not "acceptable" for me to feel that way. I clapped. That was all I did. Can't show emotion. A man can't show emotion.

So I didn't. I should have. I could have. I would have. But I would have been judged, and I would have cared. I still care for some people's opinion, even when I shouldn't. I regret it. I should've told them how happy I was. What it made me feel. How inspiring it was. If the roles were reversed I would want to know.

They already think I'm gay. Can't provide more fuel for that fire.

—

I came to you. I could have picked anyone. I have a lot of people that will pretend to care. I chose you because I've tried so long to see if you do. If you do for real. I made it clear. I made it clear that I was all out of hope. I made it clear that I was giving up. I had nothing left. You did nothing. Didn't even respond. You saw it. You chose to do nothing.

That hurt. That really fucking hurt.

—

I feel like more people than not have a "best friend". Seems cliche, but it's true. Seems like most people have that one person that they can turn to for anything. No matter what they do or say, this person has their back. Based on the people I know and the pairings I've witnessed, this person is someone you grew up with. Children need that person. Someone they can tell things they can't tell their parents. They grew up together. They're practically family.

I had the chance to have that stolen away from me. Twice.

I met Will in the third grade. He was from out of state. He didn't have any other friends. We meshed quick. At that age kids just want someone to play with. We made dumb jokes and we made each other laugh. Will moved away. Didn't leave a phone number. I don't even remember a goodbye. He was done with me, so I guess I was done with him. I needed a replacement.

I met that person in 4th grade – Justin. I knew when I met him that it could be good. He trusted me. I trusted him. I knew who he liked. What he wanted. He'd tell me anything. He was a true friend. He moved away after the 5th grade. I had ignored everyone else because he was that one person. I didn't need anyone else. It killed me. I didn't enjoy school anymore. I sat alone at lunch. Talked to no one in my classes. I was that weird loner kid.

Into middle school and high school, I had friends. "Friends". I had someone to sit with at lunch. We laughed. But they were mean. It wasn't a friendship. It was ridicule. They gave me shit. I gave it back. I became cold. Jaded. Fuck them for doing that to me.

I attempted to reconnect a couple of times. Seems like I'm always the one trying. I found Will on Facebook. He didn't remember me. Shocking. He humored me, and he eventually went through a box of old letters he had kept. Apparently in the 3rd grade, our class all wrote Will a letter after he left. He kept them. He found mine. Reminded me what I had said. Gave us something to talk about.

Eventually he told me that he actually still had family living near me. Literally down the road. Maybe a minute. Conversations took place over the next several days. We talked a lot. Even if it was from a distance, I was gonna have that friend. Rekindled friendship from the third grade. Pathetic as hell. But it was something.

I got comfortable with him. Apparently too comfortable.

One night he started hitting on me. Started asking me for "pictures". Told me I was attractive. Apparently Will was gay. He didn't want to talk.

I blocked him. Scared me to death. I apparently don't know how to read people. I had lost someone again.

Apparently it's just me. I'm not worth keeping. Since then I've been a reliable back up plan. It's cool. I guess I'll take what I can get. When all of their other friends are busy or unavailable, people will talk to me. I'll love it. Anytime. Just let me know if you want to do it again.

So no, I don't have that friend. It's too late. Everyone is taken. While everyone else moves into adulthood, trying to find a soulmate, I'll still be here. Looking for someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Anyone.

—

I'll probably text again tomorrow. Because it doesn't look like I'm going to get one. A smarter person would let go. A smarter person wouldn't force it. A smarter person would realize that they're being a fucking nuisance and shut the fuck up. A smarter person would have overdosed by now. But I'm not strong enough to be a smarter person. My "strong spirit" died. I'm dead. I may still be breathing, but I'm dead. So I'll probably text again tomorrow. You win.

—

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

—

Day three and I'm regretting everything. I regret starting this. The risk is much greater than the reward. I knew that going in. Chances are this pushes everyone further away. I'm regretting the things I've written down. Regretting my promise to delete nothing. No matter how bad it is. No matter how it will offend the people who will one day read it. Regretting the deadline I gave myself. But I'll push through. I'll keep going because I'm tired of going through this cycle. I've gotta reach a new step. And what's really the worst thing that can happen? Everyone becomes convinced I'm fucking insane. They push me away. They tell people what I've said here even though they will be sworn to secrecy. But if it comes to that, I take myself out. I don't have to deal with it. If I don't share this, it'll probably happen anyway. I can't keep it bottled up anymore. My two options are to never show this, take the small pleasures I have in life and try to make it. Or show it and likely lose it all: friends, respect…life. The risks are ridiculous. But the miniscule chance that this somehow saves me. Somehow gives me the strength to move on. That's why I'm doing this. That's why I'm trying.

It's not fair what I'm doing. When they agree to read this, they're being forced to do something. They won't ignore it. If they read this, they'll feel obligated to say something. So they'll be forced to do one of two things: to start to care or pretend to care. I'm not being fair. But I have no other option. I don't care if they're pretending or not. Not really. But if they're gonna pretend, I hope they do a good enough job for me to buy it. I'm fine being a fool. Ignorance is bliss.

—

So. Update. I had two more check on me since last time. Chelsea did. She knows it's bad. She has seen the signs before. I appreciate her more than she knows. I love my sister. But she isn't the solution. I need to be appreciated by someone who doesn't have to. Someone who doesn't have that existing connection. If we weren't related, we're not the type of people who would get along. She loves me because she always has. She doesn't know another way.

But the other one. He didn't ask if I was okay. He spoke to me though. He thought of me enough to go out of his way to report some information that I might find useful. He didn't have to. I feel like the timing wasn't coincidental though. It had been about 60 hours since he had heard from me. I think he was checking to see if I was okay even if he didn't outwardly ask. Or maybe he just thought I wasn't talking to him. Maybe the others think I'm mad? They haven't checked because they think they're bothering me? I hope I've made it clear that any interruption of my life is a good one. That I always want to hear from them. If it's not anger then they must not care. That's the only logical thing I can think of at this point.

—

So I'm miserable. I think I've driven that point home. But I'm also blessed when I really think about it. I have people that have the ability to make me happy. So many don't. Most of these already offed themselves, I imagine. So maybe being blessed enough to carry on is actually the curse.

—

Because all I thought about all day was the reactions I'll get to this, I went through individually for all four people. They may not all read it. I sort of hope someone says no. "No, I don't want to do this. I want to remember you as a happy person." Because you can't go back. After you read this, I know one thing for sure: your entire perception of me will change. But regardless, I think I have it pegged how each individual will react.

#1: I honestly think it'll break his heart. I think he cares. His words show that he does. But I don't think he's in position to actually help. I can't imagine what he could do. Honestly, I don't know what any of them could do. But this one in particular I feel confident will care.

#2: I don't think he'll have a clue. He'll be overwhelmed. He will be completely taken off guard by how bad this is. How dark this whole thing has been. Sure, he'll be sad for me. May even offer a prayer. "I'll pray for you, man. I don't know how to help you." May tell me to see a doctor. "Text me anytime you need me. You shouldn't have to do this alone." I'll appreciate it. Of course I will. But it won't help in the long run.

#3: I think he'll be convicted. This will speak to him. Not because he can relate, because I think he's probably the furthest away from actually being able to comprehend, but because he'll be offended. He'll know he's had chances. He's been in position to help. This one will likely hate me at the end of this. He has every right. In no way am I saying he was wrong in how he handled things. He didn't know the extent. He didn't know what I wanted. I honestly think he did try. At least a little. But he'll resent me in the end. I'll let him move on. I can't expect someone to just accept that type of criticism. It'll kill me, but I'll let him walk. And he shouldn't feel guilty. It doesn't fall on anyone to save someone else. And it especially doesn't fall on one person in particular.

#4: I think he'll relate. Some people deal with things differently. Some people choose to ignore the things that bother them. Repress it. I feel like that's the case here. So he'll be able to understand maybe better than anyone. But he'll do the least talking. He'll help me the least. Because by openly understanding, by communicating what he knows, he lets me know that he hurts too. And that's just not acceptable.

I'll lose them all in one way or another. That's what I envision.

Really all of my connections go through these people. One's that know them will catch on. They'll see them pull away. They'll wonder why. I'll lose them too. After they go away, I'll have to start over. Start over or give up. I'll have nothing but family left. Not enough.

So why go through with it? If I know that this doesn't end well, why the hell would I do this. I don't really know. But it doesn't end well any other way. So why the hell not?

—

I feel like I need to explain myself. Everything I do has a reason behind it. A selfish reason. Any good deed I've ever done has been selfish. Specifically gifts. I don't give a gift to make someone happy. Not really. I give gifts because seeing that person happy makes me happy. That person being happy makes them like me more. It makes them feel indebted. Unfortunately it just makes them feel like they owe me money. Something of monetary value. I don't want that shit. Fuck money. Money is the root of all evil.

The plan backfired. Spending money was to get people to like me. I wanted to buy them off. Buy their friendship. Turns out, it just makes people uncomfortable. They take it because I force it on them. Because I make them feel bad for not taking it. But it just makes them resent me. They think I'm throwing it in their face. They know what I'm trying to do. I have smart friends. They're not dumb enough to fall for that. I should've known.

—

People are different. Some people don't need what I need. They're not lesser people. Some people are fine with seeing friends once a month. A text every now and then. I actually think they're probably a better person for it. They don't need. They don't want. They're stronger. I want to be that person. So I don't blame anyone for not being there for me. For not seeing the signs. It's not in them. They're blissfully unaware. I think all of the people I chose are like that. I'm happy for them.

I'll die before all of them. And I don't want them to feel guilty. They tried. They did what they could.

—

I heard that you've settled down,
that you found a girl and you're married now.
I heard that your dreams came true,
guess she gave you things I didn't give to you.

—

I just got off of the phone with my grandma. They buried her brother today. She's actually holding up surprisingly well. Before I hung up, I told her to call me if she needs me. Day or night. I'm so glad I get to be that person for someone else. I know how it feels. If I have no other purpose than that, at least that's something.

—

I can make you happy,
make your dreams come true.
Nothing that I wouldn't do.
Go to the ends of the Earth for you.
To make you feel my love.

—

Broke down and did it. I texted first. I still feel like I'm annoying you. But you'll be nice enough to respond. I appreciate it.

—

I don't even know what I did. I've obviously pissed you off somehow. I mean, even if we aren't friends, I think I deserve better than that. I was just blown off so fast and so easy. I was hoping we could have a conversation. In my head I begged you. I need you now. It's darker than ever. My light just went out.

—

You call me out upon the waters
the great unknown
where feet may fail

—

My hope of this working fell to new lows tonight. There is no empathy. What I saw before was a lie. My body is shutting down. I'm turning to God. If he's there, he should answer. If he doesn't, then that's my final sign. I'm surrounded by godly people. They swear God does amazing things. The God that could save me isn't the same God they worship. If he were, would he not have used them to help me?

There is no help. It's not coming. This makes my decision easier. I can't save myself. My friends won't save me. God won't save me. I live completely for others now. My only question is can I stay content with that long enough for nature to eliminate me. To do my job for me.

—

I was sure by now,
you would have reached down
and wiped my tears away.