I'm sitting in darkness, too afraid to turn the lights on and see myself for what I really am. A pathetic loser, a total waste of space, a nobody trying to be a somebody just to be loved, a weak, spineless, emo who can't do anything right… Or so my family keeps reminding me. They never wanted me. I was an accident. A child who they didn't plan to have, but since they were against abortion, they were stuck with me. They made sure I paid for it though. I slept in the attic, which they made me go to when we had company over, and I had to clean the whole house every day. My brother Jeremy would beat me up at least three times a day and I was constantly getting punished for the things he did. Every year I have to throw myself my own birthday party in the attic, because Mom and Dad don't celebrate the birth of an unwanted child. Jeremy would always give me a present though… On my birthday he would only beat me up once.
At least they let me go to school… I guess. Being at school was like being at home. I was constantly getting bullied and no one wanted me there. I was just someone who was in the way. The bullies would call me emo or queer and shove me into a locker. I used to eat lunch in the bathroom, but they found me one time and I got beat up with a sock full of quarters. You wouldn't think that would hurt too bad, but my whole left side of my chest was covered in bruises and I couldn't feel my left leg for a couple days. The worst beating I took at school was when I was in the boy's locker room changing back into my normal clothes. The whole football team came in and thought it would be funny to play "Helmets vs. Me". They all took their helmets and started swinging them at me. They broke my nose and one hit me so hard I went unconscious. I was late for three classes and when I got home Dad was so mad he got out the belt with metal studs and started hitting me wherever he could.
Dad used to use that belt or this other one that had more of a metal point, which would dig into my skin and rip little bits off. Mom, on the other hand, would always use something from the kitchen, like a wooden spoon or she would tell me to stick my arm out and she would take a knife and cut me. Not very deep, but she would do it a lot, and when one healed up she would cut that open again so she didn't make too many scars. It's not like it mattered though. Sometimes I would even cut myself. Deeper than what my Mom would. No one cared what happened to me, so why bother? Why bother trying to live in a world where no one cares whether you live or die? Why live in a world where you get tortured every day of your life? Why live in a world that you don't want to live in yourself? It's because you're too afraid of lies beyond. Too afraid to take that risk and see whether or not there's an afterlife. Too afraid to let go of the hope that someday something might change and people will start loving you.
I'm tired of being afraid. Nothing will ever change for me. I'm still going to be hated, unwanted, beaten, made fun of, and alone. No one will miss me. My family is sure to whoop for joy when they find my dead body. At least I could make my parents happy for once… Goodbye world. You suck.
A/N: I do not condone suicide.