Machine

Monday, September 26th, 2022

Machine.

That is all I have felt for these past few months. An emotionless machine, working endlessly on anything and everything without question, without a true sense of purpose, without a single thought, without caring what the outcome would be, without caring whether or not I'll live long enough to finish it.

Back then, I would cut myself in the hopes that I could distract my mental pain with physical pain. Obviously, it never worked. It just made me want to die that much sooner, and there were four different times when I wanted to end it all but never went through with it.

The first time was during my sophomore year of high school; I was sixteen. I was a failure; I couldn't see nor dared to see what life could be like outside of high school. I betrayed and broke everyone's trust in me, at least in my eyes, I did since, for some reason, they still considered me a friend. There was so much happening that and I allowed my world to collapse in on itself. So I just sat in a corner outside the inner doors of the auditorium, cut myself, and pressed the knife against my throat, wanting to end it all. But I decided not to go through with it. At the time I didn’t really care who would stumble upon my body. I kept repeating in my own head to do and that I nothing will change. But instead I just sat there. Then I walked to my next class as if none of that just happened.

So I decided to wait until my last day in high school during my senior year, when I was eighteen. By this point, I was hoping that all my friends that I had made would completely forget about me. I promised so many people that I would stop the self-harm and broke that promise over and over again. I didn't deserve them or anyone. This is why I didn't care whether or not I graduated. I just wanted to end it all. I even made plans to just not show up to my graduation ceremony. But all my wishes didn't come true. Everyone that I knew never forgot about me. They didn't leave me behind as I had hoped. Am I really that blind to what love is? Of course, I couldn't go through with it if everyone still cared.

Soon after that, covid hit, and I was out of a job and almost four hundred dollars in debt. I couldn’t go on any further. I didn’t want to try and fix myself and stand on my own two feet once more. So in an attempt to make sure everyone forgot about me in the passing year I ghosted everyone. I even lied to a friend. She texted my grandmother asking if I was okay. I replied back saying I was okay as if it was her writing it and immediately deleted the messages.

Maybe one more attempt. On my twenty-first birthday, perhaps everyone would forget who I am and move on with their lives without me. They would live better lives without me. Even then, I had to be sure. If I wasn't ghosting people entirely, I was self-sabotaging. I needed to give them a reason to want to hate me; to give them a reason why I am not a good person; to give them a reason why they shouldn't care; to give them a reason why I don't matter. But I never went through with it. I couldn’t even work up the courage to grab a knife. Maybe I should just stop trying to end my life. I should choose life, but that doesn't mean I deserve any type of happiness, love, support, friends, or family. There's no prime reason as to why I deserve any of those things. All I deserve is to suffer in this worthless life of mine.

Three years and four months later of just having that self-sabotaging mindset, blinding myself to all the good I've done, all the smiles I've put on people's faces.

Nowadays, though, I've been trying to distract myself from self-harm and suicidal thoughts. By just focusing on my writing. I would try to work on my stories but I would just writing another diary entry. Even when I am done I cut myself soon after. I can’t remember the last time I’ve cut myself and it hurt like hell. I try to convince myself that it will hurt later on so I won’t do it again. It works some of the time.

I've been working so much that every time something bad happens or I get an immense amount of anxiety, I work on anything just to ignore it or push it off to the side and deal with it later. Letting it build up. Hell, it has gotten to the point where I'm now contemplating suicide more than usual, whether it's at work, on my way to work, or at home in my room- drowning in my own thoughts- sinking to what I hope is the bottom before it gets too overwhelming, and swimming back up to the surface and start working.

I've become so emotionally numb by this point that if the opportunity to end my life came again, I wouldn't hesitate. I probably wouldn't even give life a second thought. I would just leave it all behind.

This is probably starting to sound like a suicide letter, in which case it's not, but if it is, then I am sorry in advance to anyone who knows me in real life.

Word Count: 939