Die.
I shouldn’t kill myself. Because that’d be bad. Because I have a daughter. Because I have a sister and a brother and a mother. Because there are people who need me. Because letting a boy get to me is dumb. Because I’m scared. Because I have plans for my life.
I shouldn’t kill myself. Even if I feel weak. Even if I feel stupid and pathetic and desperate. Even if I want to die. Even if I want to forget everything. Even if I hurts so bad. Even if I can’t breathe and everything turns to anxiety and panic.
Right? But I want to so fucking bad.
