Pathetic

Pathetic. That's what I am. There is no other way around it. Comparatively speaking, I have a life that many people would give anything for. And yet, I'm desperate to stop living. I'm not even sure why I'm alive right now. Sure, the attention of still being here even though I don't want to be is something; but mostly, that attention just hurts. It's not the attention that I need. And what I need, I cannot have.
I just let people down. T, I know you'll read this eventually. You said you weren't sure you'd survive if I die. But I don't really believe that. Or understand how you can. "I don't understand."? This is what I don't understand. Maybe I've never outright hurt you, but I've never helped either. For Pete's sake, I introduced you to my depression and cutting when you were ELEVEN YEARS OLD. Nearly ten years ago. I've desensitized you to that reality. I never should have mentioned it. Any of it. If anything, my biggest contribution to your life has been to make you learn to be apathetic to things. Not something to be proud of.
What I also don't understand is how you saying that you might not survive is keeping me alive, even when I don't believe it's true.


"Suicide sometimes proceeds from cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live." -Charles Caleb Colton