Lately, I've been contemplating suicide. Before, the mere mention would have set the tea kettle blowing (and religious horses riding; that's another topic though), but the idea never really left me. In fact, I think I've always held some weird affinity towards self-affliction and suicide. I guess... it was a way to prove I was alive, as odd as that sounds. Life back then really was a lie, and it was reinforced with this year. In the order of things: Parents divorced. Step dad harassed my mother. Step dad harassed me. Mother didn't follow up with her promise to be responsible-- to be a mother. Mother is lying to my step dad that she loves him to cope with loneliness. I left the house. Currently, I'm staying with my real father, but I'm not sure how long this solution (if it's a solution) will last. Um, to put things in retrospect, I guess I will put an entry on here from my journal. I... want some people to know. To help, although none of you are friends, I... I don't want to be alone. Caution: There is some language. " I can't say it's showing any signs of disappearing. This unreasonable hatred for my parents, my family, even my dearest friends. Everything that once made life worth living is cast in some dark shadow. Their happiness is my sadness, but... when did it become this way? Have I so fallen from my former self that I've become... this...empty? Not even my imagination can save me now. Used to use it to escape in some form or fashion: books, movies, my own writing. Fuck. What a joke. My writing? It's deteriorated to the point where I don't even know what I'm spelling half the time. I don't even know what to write. It's not like I gain any relief from writing in here; just want to organize my thoughts, and find out why I want to kill myself. I think I already know why I've been doing things the way I have though. There's some split logic here and truth be told, I'm still trying to reason out my emotions. I want to be alone--away from these hypocrites that call themselves friends and family, bearing false flags and smiles. But... I think what I really want is for someone to care. To actually be concerned when I talk about my problems. When... I give these signs of suicide, I want to be convinced that I was wrong. People can love. People can care. But... none of this has happened yet, and with time, I will only sink further away into this delusion. I can't take it anymore. The fact that no one seems to give a shit about me has made me adopt a pessimistic world view. I've been trying to bury this in the back of my mind: the fact that this lie I've been living puts me below... my friends. I can't deny it. I hate the fact that I feel so belittled whenever I talk to them about my problems. I lose sight of my own worth. I'm trying my hardest to bottle these things in. It... just seems like I'm whining now, even though these problems are severe. But if talking about my problems alienate me, then... aren't I in some catch 22? I can't expect people to be psychic and to know that something's wrong, but at the same time, if they are my friend, shouldn't they at least ask? Notice a change in my attitude? Give a fuck about my problems and to treat it as their own? Isn't that what friends are for?... Or do I deserve this? Was I never a good enough friends to others?... Do I deserve to feel this loneliness, this crushing sense of despair because... I simply never lived up to what I believed in? So then... is suicide... going... to make anyone even...care? Please... someone help me. I know my options are limited, since I've turned my back on my family, but please... tell me that somebody cares. That my life has some meaning. Never before have I contemplated death this much. Never before have I so wanted to die. "