Why Me?

I write for myself, because I don't know how to speak for myself.

I wonder why I'm still alive. I mean, think about it. People kill themselves every day. People hurt the same way I do, go through the same things, say, think and do the same things. In the end, they do what I was about to. They succeed with their plans. 
     The dead, they were just like me. They had friends and family who loved them, like I do. Like me, they didn't fit in anywhere. Like me, they hurt more than they knew how to say. Like me, suicide seemed like a perfect answer. 
     My question is this: why aren't I just a name on a stone right now? Why aren't I a body in an box in the cemetery? Why isn't my name spoken in hushed tones when it seems like an appropriate time to let the dark things in? 
     I have nothing more to give this world than they did. I have no more love, no more insight, no more wisdom, no more comfort to give than any of them. Maybe I have less. 

     Marie-Charlotte was a girl I met online years ago. I was looking up YouTube videos when I saw a comment of hers that said something like, " I'm going to kill myself on Saturday." I sent her an email to ask if she was still alive, she responded that she was putting it off for a week. I forget why. 
      Over the next 6 days, I begged her not to do it. She lived in Canada, and I sent her reason after reason to stay. I couldn't stop thinking about it...I just knew I had to save her somehow. 
     Finally, the end of the week came, and I didn't hear from her. I cried my fucking eyes out. I had failed her. 
     About three days later, I checked my email, just in case. And there was an email from Marie. She had attempted suicide by downing an entire bottle of pills. She failed. 

     I don't tell that story often...failing to save Marie still hurts me a little bit. I didn't know her at all other than what I learned from those emails and I don't talk to her anymore. 

     Why didn't Marie have friends like mine? They could have saved her. But maybe not. Maybe sometimes, despite the best efforts, the best intentions, we still get what we think we want. I guess it depends on your determination, your situation. 

     Anyway. I still don't know why I'm alive. But maybe alive is good enough. 
     Tonight, I know I hurt alot. But I can't feel it. I'm numb and I want to feel that pain I know is just below the surface so I can deal with it. Tonight, I feel like hurting myself. But I know I can't. I want to feel some kind of pain, because I know that once I feel it, I can identify the cause and I can repair whatever in me is broken. But there's really nothing I can do but wait. 
     I want to talk to someone, but I know what I'll sound like. "I hurt. I don't know why. I need you." This will be read as, "I want attention." I won't be taken seriously, and that will just make me feel worse about myself than I already do. So, I'll do this the only way I know how. I'll wait. Hopefully, the people like Marie can wait too. Even though I feel so bad right now, I know I can't hold the sun down. It's going to come up tomorrow. And it'll keep coming up. And things will work out, and I'll feel better. 
     
     Hang on, 
     Ness