Surviving my birthday

So I survived my birthday, even though I didn’t really want to.  And most of the time I perk up after my birthday, well not this year.  I’m no more happier to be alive today than I was yesterday or November 9th.  I don’t have any faith that things will get better.  And I no longer really give a damn whether or not my death occurs on my birthday or some other random day.  I wish there was something someone could say to me to make me snap out of whatever is bothering me.  I just haven’t found it yet.  I sit here alone and think would someone really care whether or not I make it to tomorrow?  Why is suicide so bad?  I mean it is my life right?  I know what I do effects others, but who said I wanted to be brought in to this world anyway?  I look at all those who are happy to be here and wonder why I’m not.  What is it that they understand that I don’t?  I just don’t get why everyone is so happy to be alive.  What’s so great about this?  About not wanting to wake up every morning?  What’s so great?  Is it great that I feel like shit everyday?  I just don’t know anymore.  I have too much on my mind between the house, and my sister, and now my mom.  I feel overwhelmed.  If I killed myself than no one would have to worry about me anymore, not like they were worrying before, but you get the picture.  Life would go on without me, much as it did when I was here.  And I would be at peace.  So why is this such a bad thing?  Why is finally putting the pain behind me a bad thing for me to want?  I know people will say I don’t have to die to have the pain go away, but seriously I’ve tried it all before.  I’ve tried putting the past behind me.  I’ve tried the medicines.  I’ve tried getting better.  For some reason, I’m just stupid at that.  And so, I go on, wishing, hoping, begging to die.  But continuing on.    

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