The End? The End.

Dear My 15-Year-Old Self,

You are attempting suicide for the first time today. I don't remember clearly why, but I'm pretty sure it's for a reason very petty (no need to get indignant at this, your excuse is definitely pettier than any I have now). Also, you're gonna fail. You're gonna chicken out and you're gonna be glad that you did, because you'll soon realize that it in fact, was a petty reason indeed. You're gonna be happy for a while, noticing and appreciating all the things and people that you would've missed out on if your attempt hadn't been an epic fail.

But one year rolls by, and soon enough, you will find yourself making an attempt to hold onto those very things and people who gave you a reason to live. You will have to keep reminding yourself that nothing ('NOTHING!' you will fiercely repeat in your head) is worth giving up on all those people and all those things that matter, and neither is anything worth to let go of the daydreams about the various first experiences you're yet to have. But guess what? Those attempts shall soon turn into a full-fledged struggle, an all out war between the part of you that wants to live and the part that wants to give up.
You will realize the latter has won when you find yourself holding 13 Flexon tablets (500mg paracetamol each). You will swallow them one by one, as quickly as you can so as to avoid any second thoughts that might surface, and you would almost tell yourself to slow down in fear of choking on the tabs, before you realize with dry humor why you're taking the tabs in the first place. You're gonna be glad (and a bit nauseous) when you swallow all the thirteen tablets, thinking that it will finally be all over. But hopes only lead to disappointments, you shall realize a few hours later as you crouch over the sink, vomiting out all the poison. You're gonna hate yourself and you're gonna hate your life. But what do you know?

A couple of years later, you will finally be ready to accept that maybe it was for the best. You will have new people in your life, new things to look forward to, new (and way less fatal) methods to escape reality when it gets a little too grim. You will finally be what they call 'okay'. But know this, it gets worse. Yes, these new people will leave you. You're going to open up to them, you're going to expect them to stay and accept your broken self, and hope they love you as much as you love them. You're going to make amazing memories with these people and delude yourself into believing that what you have with these people is real. Reality checks hit hard, you will realize. The people you gave your heart out to will abandon you, they will let you down and they will let you go, no matter how much you beg them to stay. You're going to hurt yourself over this until you meet more people. You will then follow the same pattern. Foolishly trusting each new soul, pouring yours out to everybody you trust, carrying your heart out on your sleeve. You won't understand why everyone keeps leaving you when you're giving them your all. But that will be the very reason, as you will eventually know that all these people only took you for granted and left when you tried to confront them about it. You will be in a mess trying to understand how to change yourself. You would want to stop letting people hurt you like this, and no means of escapism will fix that. None except death.

And that's what I'm here to tell you. No matter how happy you will feel when your first suicide attempt fails, it will be nothing compared to the sadness that shadows me now. Yes, people will leave and yes, it's gonna suck. But you're going to be me, a complete mess for reasons more than just untrustworthy people. I have realized that no one will care-not even the ones who understand you or proclaim to love you-if I just left. I have come a long way from being you to being me, and trust me, the Internet will tell you it essentially gets better, but from what I see, it just has been a downhill tumble. I've suffered enough heartache and I've seen people go numb from it. I think I'm headed there, towards the numbness, the desolate void where no emotion can reach me any longer. The thought scares me. Fear is not one of the best emotions but it is one, nonetheless. And I will like to hold on to it and tons of other emotions for as long as I live. But what else to stop me from slipping into that void than the greatest leap? I'd rather die than be an empty shell.

And that's what I will do. Naive, young 15-year-old self, I tried to be mad at you for chickening out in  that first attempt. But these three years haven't been totally vain. I guess I should thank you for letting me experience all the things that gave me breaks from my Sad-Van trip. The final destination is supposed to be No-Feels Land and from here it looks like a scary place (guess Cowardice-and Disappointment-have been my only true companions). So I'm deciding I'll end my journey here. I got a few good bumps, but not enough to ensure I'll reach my Happy Place, if there ever was one. So with regrets and seemingly eternal sadness, I'll bid you my final goodbye.

Yours Depressed,
Finally Giving Up