He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t live with their hate filled faces, the cruel jokes they made, and the stress it caused him. How he had feared them, how he had loved them. He had wished to be like them so much, for so long. Every day he had tried to win their friendship, earn their happiness. But all he got was the jokes, the names, the hatred.

The isolation.

But no more. He was tired of it all. Tired of trying so hard, tired of being hated so much.

He had to end it, stop it now.

There was nothing left for him, there was no other choice. It was either end his life now, or face them.

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen. His parents weren’t home, and his older sister was a cheer practice. The perfect time. He knew, it was now, while he still had the nerve, or never.

He took the butcher knife in his hand, and walked back to his room. He sat on his bed and stroked the knife for a few minutes. Marveling at it’s steel beauty.

It would be the death of him.

But he didn’t care. He wanted death, he welcomed it.

All this pain couldn’t have been as bad as dying.

Then, finally, he was ready. This was it.

He pressed the blade to his wrist, and kept pressing until he drew blood. Then, he drew the tip of the blade across his wrist. The bright red blood flowed, and it felt… good, somehow. He took the knife in his other hand and did the exact same thing.

It would be over now, soon, he knew. Soon, he would be free from all the pain.

Very soon, it would all be over.

He closed his eyes, smiling as darkness swept over him.

For once, in a long time, he was content.

Suicide is not the alternative. If you are depressed, or know someone who is depressed, get help. Because nothing is worth your life.