I am bad, not good, not nice, not happy. "Do you think you're better than me? Do you want to kill me or befriend me?"
When you can spend hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking of ways to off yourself... you kind of start to think something is wrong.
Not even just kill myself. No, no, my subconscious wants me to suffer, apparently. One of the most attractive ideas is slitting the muscles and tendons and various gore in my right wrist and arm only, hopefully doing enough damage that I'll never draw again. I mean, hell. What would I do after that? Kill myself eventually, I suppose.
I'm sorry if I scare or upset people, I really am. I know that's generally the goal in saying things like this, but... I don't know. I don't want the attention. I don't think I much deserve it.