vent ig

I remember being sixteen and suicidal.  I didn't think I'd make it to eighteen.  I didn't even want to be eighteen.  The idea of being an adult terrified me.  Because if being a teenager was this bad, how much worse would it be to be an adult?  My eighteenth birthday came and went.  Nothing changed.  The world didn't combust, the sky didn't turn red; the world kept turning and life went on.

I remember being eighteen and suicidal.  I didn't think I'd make it to twenty.  Twenty was a foreign idea to me.  I've been a child for so long, would I still be a child at twenty?  Did I want to continue to be a child?  What's so great about eighteen anyways?  My teenagehood has been nothing but misery anyways.  I turn twenty in a few months.  But nothing's going to change.  It never does.

Soon I'll be twenty and suicidal.  I'll keep living out of spite.  I won't enjoy it, but like hell will I give anyone the satisfaction of taking me out of this world.  I don't know if it will get any better.  I don't know if I'll make it to thirty.  But I know life can be beautiful, I've seen it happen; I've experienced it once a long time ago.  It may feel like nothing changes but I had to change to get here; I know I can change back but it's hard.

I hope one day I can look back on being sixteen and suicidal and realize that that was just a small blip in my long life.  Please don't let this be the defining moment in my short life.