Damien

"I hate you," my best friend Emily yelled to my face. She was my last friend, I'd already lost all my other friends a month or so ago. She was my only friend and now she hates me too.
"Emily!" I yelled after her. She continued to walk.
"Fuck off Damien!" Her boyfriend yelled to me, and ran after her. My life sucks. Everything sucks. This world sucks. You'd think that a sixteen year old can take all this. Well, trust me, I can't. Now that Emily was gone from my life, I had nothing to live for anymore. Even though it was the middle of the school day, I left through the side doors and ran all the way home, crying. I'd fallen out with everybody. My parents didn't even give a shit about me. Just like everybody else in this world. My parents would come home drunk at about one-thirty in the morning and beat me until I was black and blue. I tried running away twice but they always found me and locked me in my room, with a door that unlocked from the outside.
When I got into my room, I turned on Bullet For My Valentine, and grabbed my journal.1

2

April 26th, 20083

I don't even know why everybody hates me so much. At school and at home. Emily just stopped being my friend. It sucks. It sucks even more because now I have no friends. All my life does is fucks me whenever it can. I want it all to end. Please make it end. I can't take it anymore, All this pain Nobody should have to go through this.4

I shoved my journal under my bed, and started at the ceiling until I heard my parents busting through the front door. Oh, shit, I thought. I turned my music up as loud as it would go, and tried to shove the thoughts that they could bust into my room any minute out of my mind.
It didn't work because about five seconds later, my dad came into my room, once again making a hole in the wall from the doorknob. Fuck, I don't know how many time's I've covered it up. I'm just going to leave it.
"What the motherfuck?!" I yelled. He came over and slapped me, probably leaving a tomato-red mark on my face.
"Get your ass out here!" He screamed at me.
I reluctantly walked out to the living room, where my mom was holding a pocketknife.
"What the fuck is this?!" She yelled. I blushed. "WHAT IS IT?!" She yelled, much louder this time. I couldn't even talk then, so I took off my hoodie and held up my arms which were full of cuts from yesterday and the months before that.
She opened up the knife, and threw it at me. I ducked and it stuck into the wall behind me. Haha that stupid bitch can't even aim right.
I dashed out of the room, grabbing my knife along the way. I didn't see them come after me.
When I got to my room, I screamed and ripped my hands through my green and black hair. I tossed the knife on the ground and tried to break it, which was impossible because it was solid metal. I screamed once more and stuck it into the wall, three inches deep. Obviously they only pretended to give a fuck about me cutting myself. I wonder what they would do if I killed myself, I thought.
They wouldn't do shit. Except throw a party probably.
I went to the mirror and looked at my face. There was yet another black and blue mark forming where my dad had decked me.
"I don't want to live like this anymore!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. My parents stayed downstairs, like they didn't hear me. Or they heard me but didn't care.
Probably that, I thought. They probably didn't even want to give birth to me. But they did, and they just wanted a son to beat the shit out of. I can't call anyone about it, because I knew that nobody would care.
Nobody would care if I died either, I realized. I'm going to kill myself.
As I took the knife out of the wall, I looked at it. It was a little bent up from when I had stomped on it. I set it down on my bed, and took out a piece of paper and a pen to write a note.5


"As soon as you read this I'll already be dead. Nobody wanted me in their life. They just wanted me out of the way. I can't live knowing that I have nothing in life. My parents don't love me like they should, they beat the shit out of me every day. My friends aren't my friends anymore, I'm always lonely. I can't even talk to any teachers at school. I want out of my dark hole. The only way for that to happen is if I die. Nobody will care. I won't even care. I started hating myself."6


I taped the note to my TV, which was busted from when I had punched the screen out one day. I made sure it was in plain sight, and sat down on my bed. I didn't realize that I was still holding the pen and started dragging the pen across my arm instead of the knife. I realized what I was doing and threw the pen across the room as hard as I could.
I picked up the knife and ran it along the blue vein in my arm. I screamed as my blood started flowing out of my arm, out of my body. I stood up then fell backwards, hitting my head on the bedframe.
'Follow me into the dark, Emily' was my last thought.