I really don't know where to go, so if you'll bear with me, I'd like to rant to you. For five years now I've had to hide the shame. I've had to deal with what you've done - what you did to me, and had to deal with the consequences. How could you do that to me? You don't even fucking know me you son of a bitch. And, yet, you did it. And why? Was it because I looked funny, or spoke funny? No, it was because I didn't give you one pound for your lunch. Why didn't I give it you? Because I needed it to get home, but instead I refused and got assaulted by you. How can you live with the fact that - because of you - I'm never gone my live my life like an ordinary person? You're an asshole. I hope you fucking curl up and die in a stinking ball of fire. Actually, let me save you the fucking bother; I'll curl up and die in a ball of fire, OK? I mean, thats what you want. Thats what I want, too. We'll both fucking win if I do curl up and die. However, I can't even fucking die properly. I take millions of pills in hope of ending it all, but I fall asleep and wake again. Fuck sake, do me one favour - take a knife to my throat, and slice it. I don't feel like living. I don't deserve to be living. After all, I'm nothing but a failure. I failed my GCSE exams. I failed my college course - twice. And now, well, I'm stuck in a dead-end fucking job. I hate it. Day in and day out of the same meaningless crap of being abused by some fucking ignorant, selfish customer - just for once, I'd like to be thanked. Even if its by you. Yeah, I saw you the other day - I saw you, and I froze and I panicked. People gave me looks, and when you started to walk towards me after seeing me, too - it was too much. I crashed into the private toilets, took the nearest sharpest object and I cut. Yeah, I cut deep. But guess what? I didn't feel relieved. I felt pain. Not in the arm. No, this was deeper. This was in the heart. Why don't you just fucking leave me alone to die? Attacking me once wasn't enough for you, so now you're mentally abusing me too. Well, congratulations, its working a treat. Not only do I often smash my hand into oblivion by punching the wall, but I now think I'm going crazy and, worst of all, I no longer have love for anyone. Not one fucking person is loved by me anymore, and I hate it. I want to love, and I want to be loved. But because of you, thats now gone and I'm a wreck. I'm put under supervision down at work incase I cut again - and believe me, you know I will, and I look forward to it. But, maybe, this time I'll go deeper. This time, I'll slice my throat right fucking open. This time, I'll die.