Making People Happy

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The bursting emeralds and limes of the trees are mesmerizing. I watch them blowing ever so gently in the wind every day. It’s pretty much all I can do. I’m imprisoned in my own room, but by me. I look at my journal; my useless attempt at trying to do something. The teardrops on the pages are starting to fade. I remember crying over you like it was yesterday. In fact, it probably was yesterday. You hurt me too much. All alone I feel and it might not be reality, but it feels like it. No one really cares. There is no one to talk to. Why should I really care about anything if I’m so hated? I don’t know, but I do.

I’m beginning to give up. My fake smiles aren’t fooling anyone anymore. There really is no use to trying when you fail at everything. All I do every day is worry. It should be a good thing. Not when you’re me. You fall into the spiral of death as you worry and worry and worry until you have almost gone completely insane. You can do nothing but cry. Sob is a better word. Curl up on the floor, hide from the world, and sob.

It is a beautiful summer day. Too bad I won’t be here for too long. I hear the birds chirping, the wind howling, and the ice cream truck a few blocks down. I tell my mom I’m taking a walk and I drag myself out the door. I’ve waited too long for this. Down the street is the bridge I used to play at when people made fun of me for being bald. They didn’t exactly understand my medical condition, and they only began the hatred of myself which caused me to stop eating. I climb to the railing. The wind is flying around me. The world just stops for a second as I look below me, the rushing water. No one will miss me. The adrenaline builds. I close my eyes, and I feel like I’m finally making people happy. I take one last breath, and jump.





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