Fernbutter
Murder is the way.
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- Seen Jun 10, 2017
Hey guys I just wanted to do this random oneshot of some BS story that I just came up with. I apologize severely if I made plenty of errors in both spelling or grammar, please have mercy on me.
Warning: Includes a very dark theme, death, suicide, cutting, and lots of feels.
Here we go.
Depression
It finally happened, what I had dreamed to happen sooner or later.
I couldn't believe it, but it was really happening.
I was falling apart, my life slowly started to deteriorate.
Which I thought would be good. But for very obvious reasons,
It wasn't.
I don't know why, but I wasn't very surprised when I had found out about my condition.
But that apparently wasn't the same story for everyone else.
Even though I knew that it could greatly affect my life, and everyone I knew, everyone who had cared for me and was concerned about me, especially my friends and family, and what it could do to me as well.
Slowly, thoughts of disturbing ideas started to show up in my head, I wasn't crazy, but it felt like I was.
They said that I need to exercise more, eat more, and sleep more.
That wouldn't have been so hard if it wasn't for my Fatigue, Anorexia, and Insomnia. I wasn't exactly born a strong person.
Everybody was worried about me. I wasn't.
Considering that I was "sick" and that I needed "help", I don't really see any way they could have helped me, partially because I was simply just that stubborn.
They started giving me meds for it, therapy even, but it was all for naught.
I don't really see what good would have come to doing those things anyways, why? Because first, the drugs they were giving me to make me feel better, made me feel way worse, and in more ways than one.
Second, the therapy just made me irritable.
And last, I was an introvert, I hated people.
My friends, or at least those who didn't hate me, I could tolerate them.
As for everyone else, I just hated every single moment I would stay with them.
I started remembering those thoughts I had last time, the suicidal kind of thoughts, they had pierced through my head.
And I had actually considered some of them.
I didn't like the idea of using the drugs through overdose, mostly for the reason because that it is handled by my personal nurse, Paige, she was my friend, I could tell she liked me, and I knew couldn't talk her out of anything.
I wanted to feel a peace, one which cannot ever be obtained through living.
I wanted to kill myself in a way that I would slowly pass away, happily.
But it would have to take some planning, and the perfect timing, because my watcher kept an eye on me almost all the time, probably so I wouldn't try anything stupid.
After a few weeks, everything in my life had now started to loosen up a little bit too much.
A few weeks after my condition was diagnosed, someone had broken into the house my parents lived in; I lived at my dorm at school.
Apparently because my parents were rebels of some sort, or at least my father, they had always fought for the people and believed in what was truly right, those who were lucky to survive all the fighting with the government would continue their lives.
But in the end, both of them had taken the fall.
When we had found them, my father had very large lacerations on his arm and back, my mother was an entirely different story; she was mutilated beyond recognition, cuts and gashes everywhere on her body.
They took shelter in a hidden bunker my father had built awhile back, I knew where it was, probably because I had helped him build it; they died there together, in peace.
After that, it made me feel worse for not being there with them, everything else started crumbling shortly after.
I slowly started losing all of my friends, they would always be there for me, to cover my back when I needed it most, there was my roommate Joss, Cass, Nathan, Paige, and Tom.
But I guess they had gotten tired of me.
They would visit me in my room, I would just lie there, not saying anything, I would have known it would happen sooner or later.
Nate left without a word; he just left, and he never came back ever again.
Cass was next, she said,
"I'm sorry, b-but I can't do this anymore."
I couldn't blame her.
Next was my roommate Jose, He didn't leave though, he just disappeared, nobody knew where he went.
Last to go was Thomas, he was my childhood friend, and I've known him since I first moved in to town with my parents.
Of all the people, I thought Tom would stay with me, but he didn't, he told me to pull myself together. Then he left.
Paige stayed with me for awhile; she would always visit my room every day, then one day she had snapped.
She threw my tray of the table, she screamed,
"I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE!"
...
"Why?"
I had asked her, she was tearing heavily, her face damp around her eyes, practically sobbing.
"Because, what is the point of caring for somebody, IF THAT PERSON DOESN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOU ANYMORE?!"
This was the first time I had heard her soft, calming voice, now filled with anger, sorrow, and disgust.
She ran out of the room, streams of tears running down her face. I stared at her as she burst out the doors.
Now was my chance.
I was still very weak since I was very fatigued and I hadn't used my legs in a very long time.
I slowly walked over to the bathroom, closing the door behind me as I got in.
I opened the small cabinet behind the mirror by the sink.
I had hidden a razor behind the small boxes.
I filled the bathtub with warm water.
I check the razor to see if it was sharp enough, or this wouldn't work.
I slipped myself into the bathtub.
I held the razor blade in my right hand, up to my left wrist.
I pushed the blade into my skin, and then sliced it along.
It didn't even hurt. I watched as the crimson fluid started leaking out, mixing with the water.
I was halfway there, Nirvana. I took the blade into my left hand and did the same to my right wrist.
I could feel myself start to drift away now.
I was so relaxed, I was at peace.
It was at this that I had realized something.
The one thing most people wouldn't really understand if they won't go through what I had gone through.
Why do people love life, but hate death?
I asked myself,
I thought back,
Because, life is nothing but a beautiful lie and death is a painful truth.
Warning: Includes a very dark theme, death, suicide, cutting, and lots of feels.
Here we go.
Depression
It finally happened, what I had dreamed to happen sooner or later.
I couldn't believe it, but it was really happening.
I was falling apart, my life slowly started to deteriorate.
Which I thought would be good. But for very obvious reasons,
It wasn't.
I don't know why, but I wasn't very surprised when I had found out about my condition.
But that apparently wasn't the same story for everyone else.
Even though I knew that it could greatly affect my life, and everyone I knew, everyone who had cared for me and was concerned about me, especially my friends and family, and what it could do to me as well.
Slowly, thoughts of disturbing ideas started to show up in my head, I wasn't crazy, but it felt like I was.
They said that I need to exercise more, eat more, and sleep more.
That wouldn't have been so hard if it wasn't for my Fatigue, Anorexia, and Insomnia. I wasn't exactly born a strong person.
Everybody was worried about me. I wasn't.
Considering that I was "sick" and that I needed "help", I don't really see any way they could have helped me, partially because I was simply just that stubborn.
They started giving me meds for it, therapy even, but it was all for naught.
I don't really see what good would have come to doing those things anyways, why? Because first, the drugs they were giving me to make me feel better, made me feel way worse, and in more ways than one.
Second, the therapy just made me irritable.
And last, I was an introvert, I hated people.
My friends, or at least those who didn't hate me, I could tolerate them.
As for everyone else, I just hated every single moment I would stay with them.
I started remembering those thoughts I had last time, the suicidal kind of thoughts, they had pierced through my head.
And I had actually considered some of them.
I didn't like the idea of using the drugs through overdose, mostly for the reason because that it is handled by my personal nurse, Paige, she was my friend, I could tell she liked me, and I knew couldn't talk her out of anything.
I wanted to feel a peace, one which cannot ever be obtained through living.
I wanted to kill myself in a way that I would slowly pass away, happily.
But it would have to take some planning, and the perfect timing, because my watcher kept an eye on me almost all the time, probably so I wouldn't try anything stupid.
After a few weeks, everything in my life had now started to loosen up a little bit too much.
A few weeks after my condition was diagnosed, someone had broken into the house my parents lived in; I lived at my dorm at school.
Apparently because my parents were rebels of some sort, or at least my father, they had always fought for the people and believed in what was truly right, those who were lucky to survive all the fighting with the government would continue their lives.
But in the end, both of them had taken the fall.
When we had found them, my father had very large lacerations on his arm and back, my mother was an entirely different story; she was mutilated beyond recognition, cuts and gashes everywhere on her body.
They took shelter in a hidden bunker my father had built awhile back, I knew where it was, probably because I had helped him build it; they died there together, in peace.
After that, it made me feel worse for not being there with them, everything else started crumbling shortly after.
I slowly started losing all of my friends, they would always be there for me, to cover my back when I needed it most, there was my roommate Joss, Cass, Nathan, Paige, and Tom.
But I guess they had gotten tired of me.
They would visit me in my room, I would just lie there, not saying anything, I would have known it would happen sooner or later.
Nate left without a word; he just left, and he never came back ever again.
Cass was next, she said,
"I'm sorry, b-but I can't do this anymore."
I couldn't blame her.
Next was my roommate Jose, He didn't leave though, he just disappeared, nobody knew where he went.
Last to go was Thomas, he was my childhood friend, and I've known him since I first moved in to town with my parents.
Of all the people, I thought Tom would stay with me, but he didn't, he told me to pull myself together. Then he left.
Paige stayed with me for awhile; she would always visit my room every day, then one day she had snapped.
She threw my tray of the table, she screamed,
"I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE!"
...
"Why?"
I had asked her, she was tearing heavily, her face damp around her eyes, practically sobbing.
"Because, what is the point of caring for somebody, IF THAT PERSON DOESN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOU ANYMORE?!"
This was the first time I had heard her soft, calming voice, now filled with anger, sorrow, and disgust.
She ran out of the room, streams of tears running down her face. I stared at her as she burst out the doors.
Now was my chance.
I was still very weak since I was very fatigued and I hadn't used my legs in a very long time.
I slowly walked over to the bathroom, closing the door behind me as I got in.
I opened the small cabinet behind the mirror by the sink.
I had hidden a razor behind the small boxes.
I filled the bathtub with warm water.
I check the razor to see if it was sharp enough, or this wouldn't work.
I slipped myself into the bathtub.
I held the razor blade in my right hand, up to my left wrist.
I pushed the blade into my skin, and then sliced it along.
It didn't even hurt. I watched as the crimson fluid started leaking out, mixing with the water.
I was halfway there, Nirvana. I took the blade into my left hand and did the same to my right wrist.
I could feel myself start to drift away now.
I was so relaxed, I was at peace.
It was at this that I had realized something.
The one thing most people wouldn't really understand if they won't go through what I had gone through.
Why do people love life, but hate death?
I asked myself,
I thought back,
Because, life is nothing but a beautiful lie and death is a painful truth.
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