I told my brother about the problems I've been having. Well, some of them. Nothing that would make him give me weird looks, I guess. It is so strange because of all the reactions I imagined, I never guessed that he would be sympathetic and even supportive. The thing is telling him hasn't helped with anything that I've been feeling. I now know that someone out there is aware of my struggle with suicide, but that doesn't help me in this struggle. Maybe it's because he can't help me? He can't protect me from my abusive parents or help me in school or take me in. He is a safe target who is unable to affect any change in my life at all. Ever since I told him I've been feeling unusually anxious to the point of near paranoia. But I don't know why. He asked me if I was going to tell my other brother, but I don't think I will. He just got married and he doesn't need to deal with my issues on top of everything else he's got going on. I dread this new year. I have been holding onto life by the thought that it would be selfish to ruin a holiday for my brothers. They deserve to enjoy their break and have good memories of it. However, things are coming to a head. I held on because I didn't want my sister to be left alone in a dangerous situation, but she moves out in a month. My brothers are leaving in a week and I'll be stuck in this hell, by myself with only my thoughts to keep me going. I can't come up with a reason to survive that exists within myself. There is nothing of worth within me. My death would upset my brothers because of the social stigma of having a sibling commit suicide. You're supposed to be sad when someone dies, but it wouldn't because they liked me, as a person, as someone they knew and enjoyed having around. This feeling reverberates all throughout me. If I don't do something, I am going to die. I don't know if this anticipation coiling in my gut is from a desire to live or a desire to die. I am just...so tired all the time. I'm tired of being in pain and being exhausted and being told I'm not worth anything. Is it even possible that a person could be completely irredeemable? Am I a cartoon villain beyond redemption, mercy or compassion? How is it when I look in the mirror, at best, I see only a void, a waste of space and at worst, a creature that I despise? Can any human exist in such an exaggerated state? Am I only this darkness I see? I think that there must be something good within me, but after all these years of trying to see something my own family claims doesn't exist, I'm tired of looking for something I'm not sure is even there. No, I despair at it. I despair at searching this void only to find nothing yet again. I despair at wearing a mask for a single day more, just so I can perpetuate the cycle. Surely the unknown of death will offer something better than this misery. People say it's selfish to commit suicide because of the loved ones left behind. Well, I don't have any friends or even acquaintances, and my family has abused me since before I could walk (ah, the miracle of home movies - they offer such damnable evidence). People say that suicide is extremely painful, prone to failure resulting in lifelong disability and generally a horrible thing to do. Well, my life (if you could call it that) is extremely painful and always has been. Getting thrown down the stairs is no picnic, I'll tell you that much. And you know what they say: if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Guns seem extremely proficient at killing people, so that seems to be a safe bet. I'm not concerned with physical pain if I'm guaranteed to die. Slow and effective seems a good choice as fast and effective seems to be impossible. And horrible things happen all the time. Shouldn't I have the right to put an end to a horrible existence lead by a horrible person, especially when that person is me? Well, look at that. Seems I had a lot to say (rant) after all. Well, I'm off to greet the in-laws. Happy last day of the year.