Putting Things Off

I don't quite know why I'm choosing to post right now. I don't have much to say and no one much to read it. I guess I was just thinking. Sometimes I just sit down when I have nothing else to do and start remembering everything and analyzing my own mind, and then boom- I feel hopeless. Like there's nothing I can do; as if I'm locked up in shackles and can't move but a few inches. And I want to kill myself. No emotional breakdown, panic attack or anything. I just look to the nearest bottle of medication or the nearest sharp object and think 'I could do this. I want to do this.' So I sit there, feeling helpless and broken, weighing my options. In the end I don't usually do anything, because what if I vomit? Dicyclomine overdose is rarely fatal and I don't know for sure how much would be necessary. And what if I change my mind midway? Basically, I decide not to bother, and instead I wallow in self-pity and regret, listening to my puppy snore and thinking of all the things in my life that have gone wrong; telling myself how selfish and horrible I am to feel sorry for myself when there are so many others suffering more than I, and wondering if tomorrow I'll do what I've been putting off the majority of my life, and just straight out end it. I apologize, to anyone reading this, for ranting.

Just Some Words

It was raining; dark. I was cold. Alone. I looked to the sky; it was a rough grey. I took a deep breath. Was there really anything worth running for? Was there really anyone waiting? All those years before, no one had cared. The road I'd walked had been forsaken, save those few passersby asking for directions along their ways. No one had wanted me before, when I was young, innocent, lovable. Why would they want me now? I rejected the thought of letting someone get too close, yet I constantly drowned in the loneliness which continuously plagued me. I had no rope to hold onto, left to dwell only on those thoughts not worth dwelling on. Why was this my life? Why wasn't this someone else's burden? It has been this way all alone, even before I'd been given the chance to make a faulty move. Time and time again I'd thought to end it. Again and again I thought of those who might one day need me; those who has betrayed me but I still loved. And time and time again I was selfless. I has it in my hands; the power to end all my past, present and future suffering. But I did not die. Instead I sat; wept bitterly within my seemingly hopeless world. Still I ask myself if I would have been better off making those final cuts, taking that jump, hiding the infection, swallowing the rest of those pills. But I will never have an answer for myself. I looked around; there was no one in sight. Tears sprang from my eyes and words from my lips. Lyrics to a sad song, thoughts burst into life. I dreaded the moment I'd have to return. Return to my life, return to my problems, return to the company who would soon surround me. Slide back into my mind, scarred and blemished; an imperfection of an unknown god. I cried, knowing soon the voices would once again ring in my ears, filling my entire being with anger and sadness, Once again the memories would flood through me, bringing me to my knees. Why am I so afraid? Is it the scars? Not the ones that cover my skin, but the ones that batter my mind? I was never given what I needed. I could never call for help before it was far too late. Is that why I'm scared? Is that why I feel so hopeless, angry? Is that why, however many people may surround me, I still feel utterly alone? I know this is stupid. My thoughts are stupid. But as stupid and stereotypical as it is, it needed to come out.