So. Around last time this year, my grandpa tried to commit suicide. He was sick, and didn't want to stick around anymore, I suppose.When people asked me about how he was doing in the hospital, I told them not to worry, and that he would be fine soon. After all, he was just a bit sick. Nothing more. I didn't tell them that he had tried committing suicide.
I mean, when people ask you how you're doing, they really don't want to know. They just expect you to come with the "im fine! you?" answer. An answer like that is easier to handle than a "i fucking hate you and everyone else in this fucking world, and i wish humanity had a fucking neck so i could choke it".
But that's how I'm feeling. My life is weighing me down. And I found out my grandpa had been involved in a car accident today. He's in the hospital now. I don't know if he did it on purpose or if it was an accident.
Suicide is a strange thing. Sometimes it feels like it's the best thing I could do for myself. You know, just letting go. As Sam Cooke mentioned in a song, it's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die.
I wonder if sadness runs in the family. After I visited my family spring, I pretty much isolated myself in a cabin in the woods. I stayed there, without really doing anything. I didn't want people to visit me, I just wanted to be alone. It helped to begin with - but then everything went downhill. Like, I ended up isolating myself so much I became semi crazy, I suppose.
I started seeing things, hearing voices and whatnot, when I went out for a walk and when I swam (the cabin was next to a lake), it seemed like something was trying to pull me down under the water.
I want to carry on, because I have no idea of what's waiting on the other side. But at the same time, I'm starting to doubt myself more and more. And even when people are making small jokes, I get catty. I'm so unsure of myself that I expect almost everything someone say to me, is meant sarcastic or mockingly.
I don't really want to hang around, but I'm afraid to die.
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