For 8 months my life has changed, for 8 months my social life has disappeared, my ability to care has disappeared, and for 8 months my lust for death has grown. I do not know why I want to die, I do not know why I am having these urges to kill myself, my emotional being ceases to exists, complex emotions like generosity cease to cooperate with my stubborn brain. My faith in God, faint as it was 8 months ago is now gone, replaced by a empty feeling, fueled by what lies beyond my inevitable death. My little facade that I wrap around myself in front of my parents is impenetrable. I have lied to my parents and to myself, for no sane man can pathologically attempt suicide, glimpses of reason long shrouded by intricate webs of confusion and frustration. I have doomed myself to a early death, and yet I will never get help, for I am more worried about getting caught, than I am about saving my pathetic little life. The few times that I am aware of my little attempts, I am dased and unfocused, my mind locked away in a little cell. I am hopeless, fucked up and alone. My life is worthless.