Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Picking up the phone. Putting down the phone. Looking at the knife on the left. Looking back at the phone. Rolling over, face buried in the bed. Thinking. Turning back to the ceiling. Back to the knife. Back to the phone. Picking the phone up again. Staring at the buttons. Listening to make sure mother is asleep. Dialing the number. Hesitating. Putting the phone down again. Staring at the clock. Wanting to break the clock. Looking at the knife again. Picking up the phone. Calling.
"Hello?"
"...Hello..."
A deep breath.
"I just want to say, first, I don't think suicide is a good solution."
"Then... why are you calling?"
"Because.. Because sometimes, a bad solution... seems good enough. And, sometimes, it's hard to convince yourself that it isn't, and.. Nevermind, I'm sorry for calling."
"Wai-"
Putting the phone down.
Curling up.
Crying.
----------------------------------------
My right shoulder, being shaken. A kind voice. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
I look up. It's mother. Have to smile. "I slept great! What's for breakfast?"
She smiles back. "Hash browns, fried eggs, and bacon. Hurry up and get ready, or it'll get cold!"
She looks away. She's walking out of the room. Don't have to smile. I am fine, so I must get ready.
Getting out of bed. Washing my face clean. Changing my clothes. Going downstairs. Smiling. Talking happily.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
A familiar knife in the kitchen. Ignore it.
My mom. She's important. "I hope you have a nice day at school!"
A nice meal. It doesn't taste like much.
Brushing my teeth. Walking to school.
Walking fast. Can't be late. That would be odd. I am normal.
A day of school. Smiling to people I know, to people I don't really know. Learning things I care about, things I don't care about, things I'll need, things I won't need. Have to do well. I don't want anyone to worry.
Walking back home. Have to walk fast. She would be worried if I'm too late.
Back home. Smile. Open the door.
"Welcome back! How was your day?"
"It was great! Did you know..."
A happy sounding, empty conversation.
Do homework. Read books. Play games. Avoid thinking about anything. Think about it anyways.
I'm useless. I'm garbage. I don't deserve any of this.
Smile and eat dinner happily.
Back to my room. Lying on the bed. Doing nothing but thinking.
I wish nobody cared about me, so I could just kill myself without worrying.
Whispering quietly. "I hate myself."
Why am I like this? Why do I hate myself? I hate that I hate myself, and I hate myself for hating myself. It's pointless. I'm stupid. I'm not stupid. I'm garbage. I'm not garbage. Why am I even alive? I know this is wrong. But I can't think any differently.
----------------------------------------
It's night.
A knife, and a phone. Looking at both. Putting the knife back.
As long as someone still cares about me, as long as I still care about them–not yet.
Looking at the phone. Leaving it.
I don't know what to say.
Left with only my thoughts.
I'm not happy.
When did it start? How did I end up like this? I don't know. I just know it kept getting worse. Keeps getting worse. I'm useless. I can't even fix a problem I know I have. I might as well just die, since I don't enjoy living. But, not yet.
----------------------------------------
Another day. The same thing again.
Again.
Again.
I hate it. I hate smiling when I don't feel happy.
I hate doing anything, because it all feels so empty.
I hate when others do things for me, because I'm not worth it.
I hate myself, because everyone else deserves better.
And, I'm tired.
My friends. They worry sometimes, but if I smile and say I'm fine, they believe me.
My mother. She.. cares. But, I don't. Not anymore. This is enough, right?
Strangers... They don't care.
A knife, and a phone. Looking at both. Picking up the knife.
Even if someone cares about me, it doesn't matter.
Looking at the phone.
I don't want anyone to care about me. I'm not worth it.
It'd rather just die here.
I move the knife.