Ok this is my first story so. . .yes. By the way this is not just a sex story, I'm trying to write a love/coming out story, but there will be erotica soon. And of course remember all the age guidlines and so on.
I looked again at the razor on the sink, so many times now I have looked but I have always been afraid to try. Not this time. Inside my head I screamed at myself, "Just do it, everybody hates you your a fat, gay, retarted, pussy. Just do it and end your life, it's not like anyone will care." Giving in to that voice I picked up the blade. It's matallic luster shone bright in the light, it's thirst for blood would finally be filled.
The black hit me fast.
Swimming through dark shadows I felt as though I was being pulled up by an unseen force, God. My hearing came back, there were beeping sounds and voices. At last my sight came to me, fuzzy at first but clear as crystal in no time. Lights were prying into my brain through my eyes. The voices were not just a rumbling anymore, but audible words. I had just been imagining it, there was only one voice, that of a nurse singing softly.
"Lord prepare me, to be a sanctuary. . ."
I cut this out, it didn't interest me, I wanted to know what happened, why was I here. The black hit me again, I remembered.
"Stupid son of a bitch," the voice was back, "Jesus, you can't even kill yourself can you? Wow. You are probably the most retarted person in the world."
"I tried, it didn't work. It was God, he pulled me back, he didn't want me to die." I pleaded with the voice, however I felt naked in the dark, trying to fight an unseen force.
"God, you think he cares about you? How stupid are you, God doesn't care about gays, he hates them. Haven't you ever read the Bible, dumb ass."
It was back, a monster that fed on my fears, weaknesses, incapibilities. It was too much for the day, the mental anguish had exhausted me. I needed sleep.
I was relesed from the hospital after a few days, and was told I would have to see a psychitrist. His name was Dr. Walsh, he was a young man maybe in his twenties, well built, and a face to die for. On our first session he asked me how I was feeling, fine I replied, but for some reason he didn't take to that answer.
"Trenton, it's okay to tell me what your feeling. I'm not going to tell anybody. It's safe here. Now please tell me how are you really feeling?
Do they think that if they talk in short coppy sentences it makes people comfortable? Anyhow I was not about to tell him what I was really feeling, I figured it would be best to solve it myself; besides it builds charcter.
I made up a bunch of bull shit at the office, which I hope he bought, and was now preparing for school. I got clothes, supplies, and had to compare scheduals of course. Then it came, the first day of school.
I woke up that morning feeling fresh and ready to go, putting my suicide attempt out of my mind; I just wish everybody else would.
I recieved strange looks that day, I could tell people were judging me, scanning me for any signs of craziness, but I just kept on going ignoring all the stares. This of course was only on the outside. On the inside I was dying, my social status, of course, dropped majorly. I had nobody to sit with or talk to, I was alone, the crazy, suicidal, middle class kid.
Comments, questions, concerns please e-mail me at darkstranger__1@hotmail.com Thanks!