Is this what we really want?

How society can bring someone so low that death is the only thing left.


1. One little thing

Society these days is just fucked. Absolutely and completely screwed.
Where does that leave out generation? Hurt, broken. Equally fucked up.
The images in the media of celebrities literally just skin and bones, make both girls and boys believe they aren't skinny enough, pretty enough. Good enough.
So these little habits start to form. Be it skipping a meal or dramatically cutting down the amount eaten. Then it escalates. More meals are missed. Excessive amounts of exercise until you faint, and if you're weak enough to give in to the temptation of ending the ravished growls of your stomach, a little trick puts a stop to that. You put the music up high so nobody can hear your little secret. Nobody can hear you emptying your stomach until only blood is left coming up.
You tell yourself nothing is wrong with you except your weight. That you're fat. You're ugly because of this, and that must change, and quickly. You tell yourself that this is just a short cut, that no real harm is being caused. But it gets addictive. As the weight drops off you should feel happiness, yet it just breaks you that little bit more.
That voice in your head. It bullies you. It tears you down, leaves you crying, assures you that everything you think you know is only the truth. That you're fat, you'll not be good enough until that is no longer the case. And if you eat, it just says you're weak, that you don't deserve to be here because you're not willing to do whatever it takes.
It pushes you so low you need some form if relief. A blade gives you that relief. Bringing it across your skin, watching as your life source drains from the cuts you've created. Crimson red.
Then you cry. Openly let out your emotions in the enclosed space you call your room. The place where you should feel happy, reminiscing about the good times. Yet forgetting them as they're replaced at these new found thoughts. The voice in your head. You cry at how far down you've been brought. Yet you carry on. The voice hasn't stopped and the physical pain is far less than the mental. You cry yourself to sleep that night, and every night since. When does it get better? When does it all stop?
Well you stopped it. The day everything got too much for you to handle. The day you broke down as everything over clouded any sane thoughts left. The day you were found hanging by your tie from the posts in the attic. Grey. Lifeless.
You stopped the voice. It cannot hurt you anymore. Control you anymore. Your parents, they found your note. They had no idea. Eight simple words.
'I'm done. Maybe now I'll be good enough.'
This caused arguments. Why hasn't they noticed, why couldn't they stop it. Your mum spiralled into depression. They divorced. Your mum followed you soon afters. Overdosed in Valium. The guilt had overcome her. Torn her up inside, it had broken her heart until she couldn't stand it anymore.
Your little sister, now without both her sister and mum, she soon followed in your footsteps. She's eight. She thought the world of you, and if you weren't good enough she most definitely isn't.
Is this what we want. Is this good. Millions are like this. Millions end up like this. So I say thank you. Society has really fucked up, and nothing can be done because it just doesn't care. I think it feels joy at the chaos created. Proud of everything it has caused because nothing has changed.
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