Who am I to cry?

To cry, to break under the world when I'm exactly the same as the monsters I hate.
I feel like everyone around me wants to die.
Everyone I know.
My father.
My mother.
My brother.
My friends.
My love.
They are all. Suicidal.

Under them, is where I break. Where I give up and crawl back into my little cave of fucking misery. Where I begin again, to ignore the world, to muffle it all into an eerie silence. Where I watch everything pass by and think to myself, talk to myself, philosophize with myself.

And it is in that cave, with their eyes watching me, where they break. And there starts the never ending cycle of hate and death. A father beats his daughter and she grows up to kill herself in front of her son, her son is bullied at school, he murders his bullies. The siblings of those victims become druggies, drunks, and ruin the lives of their future spouses, children. Those children end up orphans or victims of abuse, they grow up and give birth to children of Depression. Those children begin to eat away at the lives of everyone close to them, their friends, family, loves. Everyone is affected if those Children commit suicide. Their friends, family, loves, screwed up and take their anger out on those who caused the suicide. The world. And it never ends. Ever. A cycle of hate will always be stronger than the little ounce of temporary love splashed over the fucking gram.

I sit there and I scream under the pressure. I cry. I mourn the deaths and despise the ungrateful selfishness of those who decide to give it up, to fuck the world and shoot themselves, hang themselves, drug themselves. I sit there and I scream out my pain in observing the world. I voice my agony, that silent hurt I had been housing. And in the inside I want to just step out in front of a moving car. I want to die, too, I thought to myself. And then it dawned on me that I'm exactly the same as those breaking me. I am the broken breaker.

Greetings Dan

That is, if you came to check.
Which you probably didn't.
Which means I am talking to myself.
Honestly, why would you give a fuck.
Ehem. Why would Dan give a fuck?
I'm just some random chick he apparently thought was pretty. (Which I'm not. As I have said 10billion times)
So I burst his bubble with the cold hard recent facts of my life:
I'm 16.
In love.
Dying.
--
He thought it was bullshit.
Whatever.
my life is complete bullshit.
I deserved that.