Why I Hate the World.

Suicide

         Suicide has ruined my life. (I hear it does that for most people who it
touches.) Because of one person’s actions, nothing has been the same since. I have a
lot of anger towards this person and I can’t express it because he was sick. Sick yes, but damn it why was he so stubborn? He wouldn’t let anyone help him or talk to him. And then he decides one day to take that chance away from everyone forever. That’s really fair.
         I tried to kill myself when I was 13. I don’t know why except I was just mad. Angry like I am right now. Everyday I have to wake up and look for a reason to live. Usually, my driving force behind staying alive is knowing that someone would have to clean my house after I died and they’d look at me unfavorably. I am not even crazy about most of the people in my life and yet, I wouldn’t want to leave that kind of burden on them. So, I don’t understand why Bobby, who at one point had a hell of a lot more compassion than I did, would just decide fuck it and die. I don’t even know if he really killed himself. Not that anyone cares what I think on that issue. I guess when you have to look at someone under a microscope things don’t look so pretty.

         Maybe it’s me who has the problem.