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Sometimes
Sometimes I think how easy it would be to just take my bottle of sleeping pills.
Sometimes I think how easy it would be to “accidentally” swerve into oncoming traffic.
Sometimes I think just how easy it would be to just kill myself.
It would stop the pain.
It would stop the thoughts.
It would stop everything.
I want to do it.
But I know I can’t.
No matter how much I want to, I can’t.
Everyone would be so confused as to why I did it.
My mom and sister would be horrified.
My friends would ask themselves if they saw any signs.
They probably wouldn’t have.
The signs are sometimes very subtle.
A suicide joke here.
A self-harm joke there.
A “kill me” phrase mentioned.
Sadness. Anger. No desire for anything.
No one would even be able to tell that I am depressed.
That I take a bunch of meds for various illnesses.
That I self-harm.
The pain lets me know that I still can feel
Even though my head and heart tell me
I can’t.
