Chapter 2

  (“It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures”)

  It’s been three days since I last wrote in here.

  Three days since I said I was ready to die.

  And three days later; I’m still ready

  If anything, I’m starting to get very impatient

  Every additional day I spend here, I end up in more pain than I was in the day before.

  I hate it.

  I hate it.

  I hate it. . . and I hate myself.

  For the past two days, I’ve been in complete limbo.

  My mom hasn’t come to visit today, and neither have my friends. They’re all busy with their own individual things, so it makes sense.

  (I hope they visit soon)

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  Since there’s not much for me to do, I’ve found myself combing through the memories of my life.

  All of the good

  All of the bad

  It’s made me who I am today :).

  There’s not much I can hate about that.

  Especially now considering where I am in my life.

  What I do hate is the fact that now I’m forced to relive my life through memories.

  I miss the days when I could get up and not have to worry about almost anything.

  Of course, I worried about the usual things a teenager would worry about

  Clothing

  Social Media

  Friends

  Relationships

  Homework

  Classes

  All of these things seemed so. . . significant before

  But now. .

  All of these past worries are nothing compared to the gravity of death.

  I hate that I’m so worried about something I’m ready for.

  And I hate myself for remembering the past

  When all I want now is for the future to come.

  I just want my misery to end.

  I want it to end while I’m still ready.