True is a fifteen-year-old suicidal teenager, and he's done with his life. With shitty parents who would rather punch him than show him affection and a set of siblings out to make his life hell, oh wait, did I forget to mention he's devastating bull...
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True P.O.V (Edited)
What is the point in being alive? This is a question that I have found myself contemplating what feels like a long time. At one point, I could have said some inspirational reason why we were alive, how it wonderful life had the potential to be. Sadly, I can't give that speech anymore, the time for that speech is long gone. I feel dead inside. I have been staring at my ceiling for what feels like forever. Time seems frozen, it always does when I'm alone. Alone with just me and my mind. Trapped. Trapped with bad thoughts, flashes from the past. Those things haunt me, never leaving me alone.
People get sad when others die, whether it be by accident or otherwise people get sad. I don't think anyone would be sad if I were to die today or any day. I have multiple siblings and I think only one of them would cry or feel bad. I don't think the rest of my family would really care. They have shown that they'd care, they never show that they care. At least, they don't when it comes to me. They'd care if it was Christin, my older brother, or one of the twins. Me though? Not what so ever.
Another thought that comes to mind is suicide being selfish. Some say it is selfish to kill yourself because of hurting others in the process. That would make sense if you had others to hurt. Like I said, my youngest sibling, my ten-year-old brother Bryan, would probably be crushed upon hearing that I'm dead. To me, suicide isn't selfish. It's the last solution, the hidden back door, the last option. My only chance at escaping the life that I am currently living, trapped in. In a way, people who force those attempting to commit suicide are more selfish. If I wanted to kill myself, keeping me alive, keeping me here, is almost as bad. Trapping me in a place that I hate. A life that is miserable. A life where I feel alone, surrounded by people who simply don't care. For someone else, suicide is selfish. To others, it is an escape. It's going to be my escape.
It isn't as if I haven't been planning this for a while. Ever since New Years, I have been planning to kill myself before my sixteenth birthday, which is on January 30th. I get that that isn't a lot of time to change your mind but it turns out that I didn't need even a month to throw in the towel and give up hope. Crap happens. Things you anticipated to get better doesn't and it leaves a chain of reasons to die behind in its place and it builds up until you can't handle it anymore. Because I can't handle it anymore. I just can't.
I force my eyes away from the ceiling and around my room, glancing at it for what I hoped would be one of the last times I would ever have to look at this pitiful excuse of a room. My family wasn't poor but my room begged to differ that fact. My room small, smaller than my siblings, heck smaller than my siblings closest. My room was about the size of a small office, or a large master bathroom, if not smaller. My siblings had large rooms, filled with items gifted to them by our parents. My room was filled with the bare minimum. Some would have called it favoritism but it's beyond that point. You can't justify why they hate me anymore. I don't I think you ever could.
Maybe it was because I simply never fit in within my family. The only one of my family members that I even slightly resemble was my mother and younger sister, Madisyn, who was one of the twins. I looked a whole lot like my mother, Jenna. She was a beautiful woman with flowing blonde locks that seemed to flow as if her hair was a wave. I took after her look wise. I got her blonde hair if mine isn't a more platinum version of hers. I got her green eyes, something none of my siblings got. They all took after our father, brown hair and brown eyes, well except Madisyn who had more blonde than brown hair. That alone made me stand out, it didn't help that I was naturally paler than my family, my mother included. They were all nicely tanned when I couldn't tan for the life of me. It was unfortunate, sometimes I envied their tan skin. Sometimes I knew it wasn't something worth being envious of.
