I won't kill myself

Sometimes I wish I killed myself when I was twelve.

I was careless, and that meant I didn't care for anything at all.

I used to stare out of the window and contemplate to jump and just... let go. If I jumped, with my back against the air and my arms reaching for the sun, would I feel free? Or would I regret it, halfway? Would I hate the cold air? Would I be disgusted of what I had become? I was only twelve, after all. I did not know the long extent of regret.

Sometimes I wish I killed myself when I was thirteen.

I had a dream about it, I think—right before I learned how bad wounds itched, and how upset it made me unsticking my shirts that clung to the blood on my wrists.

In the dream the razor glade through my small wrist horizontally and the bathroom was big and it had a bathtub, yet I was sitting on the toilet seat with wet cheeks and red eyes. My breath was shaky and there was a window that led outside, to a big green lawn. It was dark but it shined the same as that one hotel I went to when I was six. And even if the window was clear, people couldn't seem to reach for me.

Sometimes I wish I killed myself when I was fourteen.

I was young and naive and in pain, and what was the reason for living at that age? Every day I wake up, covered in a thick dark blue silence and ask myself the same thing. Because now is harder to die. Everyone would be worried, but myself back then wasn't worried about what people thought. Mom would cry and dad would hold her, at least I hope he would.

I'm fifteen now, barely someone. Barely someone I can recognise.

I don't know if I want to kill myself, I think I don't want to. I don't even know how to know I want something, how to know I want someone. I don't know how to feel right. I don't know how to feel, even. How do I know what I'm feeling it's happiness? How do I know what I feel if sadness? What if I'm just numb? Am I allowed to kill myself know? A part of me knows I shouldn't. A part of me knows people love me now, so I can't let them down, and I won't.