Someone told me they wanted to die. I know I can't help them, and nothing I will ever say will make it go away.
But here's what I said:
You know sometimes I feel like I am the only person in the world with my own thoughts, feelings and conscience. Everyone else is just pretending.
So... sometimes caring about people seems pointless.
Because I don't know if they care about me, or whether they'll cease to exist when I pass on.
I am so alone in my mind. I can never venture into anyone else's mind and see what it's like. I tend to wonder why I was chosen to be conscious, in this thing that people call a body. Sure, I can do things, I can move things, and can get up and walk, I can travel the world, I can talk to other people who are supposedly like me, but why? Why is it me?
You cannot convince me that anything is real. Because how should I or anyone know?
I live to escape.
To escape my own thoughts, to escape the world around me. But I would never die to escape, oh no.
For fear that I might be stuck alone with my own thoughts for eternity.
Then how would I escape my own mind?
I guess that's why I don't cut, I don't harm, I don't try to end it all. Because then what? Darkness? Loneliness?
I fear the very day that the luxury of life is taken from me.
I just hope there's a god or something. Maybe I can be by his side and I won't have to be scared.
Because maybe he'll tell me why I did it all.
And I'll finally understand.
