I was on a downward spiral.

Everything that mattered before, was suddenly becoming unimportant. How I looked, my grades, I even grew apart from the one person who I could trust with everything.

Nothing mattered as much anymore.

Did anything matter at all?

Did I matter at all?

I wore black. I talked to some people, but I had no close friends, no one to talk to about what was really happening.

What was really happening?

Yet, despite what was happening, I convinced myself that I was happy. I was used to being alone, in a way. I had always relied on some people, but those people were all gone. I didn't feel any different, but I felt like I was a different person. I told myself I was happy, but I cried myself to sleep.

What was happening to me? Why was I like this?

There was no voice in my head but my own, but I still talked to it. I talked to myself because no one else would talk to me. I would laugh at my own jokes because no one else thought they were funny. I would imagine conversations with people that didn't exist, because people that did exist acted as though I didn't.

Even that voice still hated me.
I still hated myself.

I told myself I was worthless.
I told myself no one loved me.
I told myself I couldn't do anything right.
I told myself I couldn't do anything.

Why did I hate me so much?

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Why don't I deserve to be happy?

I told myself that I didn't deserve to be happy. What did I ever do to deserve happiness? I was never a good person. I was rude, selfish, annoying. That's why they all hated me. Everyone at school, they all hated me.

How could they hate me? They don't even know me?

Why do they hate me? I asked myself.

Because you're worthless.
Because you're a piece of shit.
Because you're ugly.
Because you're a bitch.
Because you're crazy.
Why would they like me?

I tried not to sit in the same place for too many days in a row at lunch. No one wanted me at their table. I often sat with one or two other people that didn't have anywhere to sit either, but even they hated me.

Was that when it started?

I can never remember anymore, when it all started. The days were a blur. I did the same thing every day.

Ignore my alarm clock several times before I wake up. Put on some random clothes. Brush my hair. Wear the same shoes I always wore. Then I would ride my bike to school. I'd sit in my classes all day, not paying attention to my teachers. Eat with random people at a random table for lunch. More classes, more staring off into nothingness. I'd ride my bike home while listening to music. I'd throw my backpack on the table and ignore all of my homework. Watch some tv. Eat dinner. Ignore my mom when she yelled at me for my grades and for having zeros. Go to my room and stay in there trying to find things to do until I could manage to fall asleep.

Every day. An endless cycle.

On the weekends I would stay up later, and sleep longer. Trying to find things to do that will keep me from thinking too much.

Thinking was always bad. My thoughts were awful. I thought many times of ways to kill myself. Occasionally ways to kill the people around me. I thought about what would happen if I did kill someone. I could plead insanity, and avoid jail. Or maybe I wouldn't have to. I had discovered it was possible to kill people without leaving a trace, how to make it look like a heart attack. I could sneak into someone's house and suffocate them in their sleep, or I could jump off the roof of my house. I could shoot someone else, or I could shoot myself.

I thought about what would happen if I did kill myself. Would anyone miss me? Everyone at school hates me. Only my family would care, but I knew I couldn't do that to them. I love my family, and I know they love me too.

But it was getting to the point where it was almost too painful to keep living.

I had to do something to stop the pain.

But I couldn't talk to my family about it. I had to look strong for them. I had no one to talk to.

What was going to happen to me?