I've seen this suicide-awareness thing in journals all over here. Yes, suicide is a serious topic needing a lot of awareness and discussion for prevention.

But no. When things are so exaggerated like in that story, it's hard to believe and take it seriously. Let's see if I can mess this up a bit for 4/13. >:]



Wanna kill yourself? Imagine this.

You come home from school one day. Technically, you're already home because you're homeschooled, but it sounds cooler to think that your home is a respite from school rather than a hybrid torture chamber/respite thing you're stuck inside day and night.

You've had yet another horrible day. Your dad didn't give you a car for your birthday, and you are royally pissed off like all get out. You mean, he got you a shitload of cakes, but really? All you wanted was to be prepared for the day you get your driver's license, but nobody seems to care about your future besides yourself. So you're going to take it into your own hands.

You go to your room and close the door. You take out that suicide note you've written and rewritten over and over and over. You take out those razor blades. You grab that bottle of pills and set them on your bed. Laying down, holding the letter to your chest, it suddenly occurs to you that you are being an idiot.

Your suicide note is ripped up and hastily thrown in the trash. No one must see the evidence. You take the bits of paper out again and chew them up, just to be safe. You throw the razors out the window.

Crash!

Whoops, you'll pay for the neighbor's window later. Who knew razor blades were that dangerous to glass. You empty the bottle of pills all over your floor. It turns out they're actually smoke pellets and half of them explode into practical-joke-territory fartland, population one. Blech.

You turn on your computer and talk to your friends on the internet to distract yourself from the idiocy you participated in not five minutes ago. You play a game.

Now you're lying down. It's cold and windy, but you trust the complete stranger on the other end of your chat application. You close your eyes.

And  you are so, so dead.

Not that you stay that way.

On the other side of the eighth wall, readers choke on their oatmeal and feels. Oh, the feels. Tears run down their cheeks and they're not ashamed to admit it to anyone who will listen to their incessant blubbering.



People care.

You may not think so, but they do. Your choices don't just affect you. They affect everyone. Don't end your life; you might have an audience to live for.

So don't go out on a cold, hard slab of rock.







But in all seriousness, if you actually do want to talk about anything with someone, I'm here.