Good evening, reader.
It's been five years since April 27, 2021. Don't you remember the last time I talked about this? It's been five years since I tried to kill myself when I was twelve.
I haven't moved on. It's still weighing on me. I don't know why, I don't want to remember. I said enough before. It's been five years, and even that event wasn't the darkest point in my life. That title probably goes to eighth grade, when I would constantly think about suicide, nonstop. I never, ever, want to return to that level of sadness and loneliness. I'm still alive, but I really hope I won't return to that in the future. I want to tell someone again about that day. I won't though. I'm having trouble understanding what I want to say. Forgive me, reader.