I keep switching up from the idea of ending my life forever or keeping myself alive no matter what.
In the end, I feel like both would give me the peace I really need right now. Suicide isn't a good solution to my problems, but right now—there isn't a solution. There's only small steps into a rough process into healing that I have barely any knowledge about. Healing seems like a weird term to me. Everytime I feel like that I'm becoming happy with my life—that there's things to look forward to—I end up slipping and crashing once again later on. I try to hang onto that idea that my life will become better.
But, being alive has become so dreadful to go with for the past couple years. I admitted this to someone once before, but they only responded with "life is hard"—well, yes! It just makes me feel like I was born to die early.
I know once I get out of my house and move in with who I love, I'd become happier—and more stressed, but at least happier. It's hard for me to stay with that idea. I know I'd be happy. Yet, I keep considering ending my life over and over again.
This is one of the hardest things for me to admit, but I've become obsessed with the idea of dying early. I feel so selfish for believing and fantasizing about that. I'd love to be a ghost to see how my classmates would react when I stop showing up to school, and someone would spread word around that I had killed myself in an early morning. Just knowing that people knew that I was in so deep that I gained the confidence to end my life would be enough for me to have that same peace I would have if I lived three more years. I've always thought about ending my life at least at thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen, at maximum—sixteen. Now that I am sixteen, I feel the need to end my life as quickly as I can. Yet, there's so many things I have to take care of—cleaning my room, cleaning up my art pieces and supplies, throwing away the things I don't want people to see when they come to get my things. I realize that I've just been procrasinating my death. It's ironic.
I want to laugh when my friends question if it really was that bad—because yes, my mind is horrible. Yes, I decided to take my life instead of chasing my goals of becoming a better person. Yes, I am a horrible person. And, I will forever be happy, and sleep forever, and not talk to anyone ever again. I want to laugh when someone questions if there were signs.
Sorry, reader. The field trip wasn't that good, and my friends were talking about how good it was. It would have been better if I had more friends in IB. I have my best friend that would have talked to me, but we weren't in the same group. All of my other friends had better friends than me. That's okay. As much as I feel hate for everyone, I'm really happy a lot of people in IB have their own friendgroup. It would be bad if everyone didn't like each other.
I feel like a lot of my rambles are a result of my bad sleep. I'm going to bed.