I don't know.

I don't... know.

I can talk about how much I struggle to concentrate on things, and how I almost got hit by a car walking on the streets while spacing out. I can talk about how much my self-inflicted scars hurt now. But honestly, none of those is surprising at all.

I feel like I'm probably better off dead. How do I put it? It's a good thing for both the world and for me.

I used to struggle with self-esteem problems and thought I didn't deserve to live. Obviously, I'm even worse now after the series of suicide attempts (I tried hanging multiple times last week. I just ended up vomiting and gasping for air), but I don't - can't - care about those things anymore.

Oh God, I don't even know how to speak anymore.

Would telling the internet this actually help? Will anyone actually see this at all?

I've been doing some research about this "afterlife syndrome". I've come across all those names I'm already familiar with - derealization, Lazarus syndrome, etc, but they don't describe what I'm feeling, really. To put it simply, I have to reach out for help urgently, or to die.

For the last few weeks, I've been going with the second option and tried to kill myself in multiple ways, but because of my cowardliness or not, I can't kill myself and I know that. I've gotten a couple of serious injuries but in the end I didn't die.

It's almost miraculous. I've tried to die for so many times; I space out almost whenever I'm awake; I cut myself every day. Though they aren't fatal enough, combined with the thoughts I had and some I still have, it's hard to believe I'm still alive.

I'd be happy if this is all just a dream and when I wake up I can be someone else, but while this all seems to be real, I think dying is the most practical option, to be completely honest. It's just... an easy way out.

But is it actually easy?

I mean, it's not that difficult, but most things are just a bit impossible to me nowadays. I try to die pretty frequently, and that doesn't change anything, just like when I try to get better - that doesn't change anything either!

I should just give up. But giving up isn't an option. I wouldn't die, nor would I live. I might become a real failure, a real disappointment, yeah. Or maybe I'd go crazy. But as long as a part of me is still conscious, I would certainly try not to let that happen. It's a natural reaction, just like how I'd still try to cling to the edge of the building I'd jump down from, no matter what's going on in my mind.

I can't exactly put it into words, but this is enough information, right?

...Come on.

I'm just nineteen. I haven't even done anything yet.

Why is this happening to me? I mean, why me? I've been wanting to die either mildly or severely since I was in middle school. I've never succeeded but at least they pushed me back into the reality. Now the reality's my mess. My mind's a mess. My body's a mess. Everything's a mess.

It'd be so much more comfortable if I'm dead.

I'm so lucky that I feel almost a bit unfortunate. If I don't deserve this sort of privilege, then why does God give it to me?

Ah, God, can you answer that yourself?

You've given me chances and I've wasted all of them. So what are you doing now?

Where's the mercy you're entitled to have?

But it's not God who's unfair here. Most of the time it's the individual's.

I can't believe my tolerance is so disappointingly low.

5/5/2012

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