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You can feel your lungs and mind slowly caving in on itself, carving away at all you are. 'Please.' You silently beg to the gods. You're shaking even harder now, digging your bony hands into your [[memory-stained carpeting.]] The gods are never there. You don't know where they went. It's silent outside of your head. Inside; it's a construction site of unfinished projects. Nothing is making sense, everything in that tiny brain of yours is running together. The world is blurring and you reach out in hopes of grasping something solid, trying with every fibre of your being to come back to reality. "Please-" You feel yourself begging again, unsure of [[what exactly.]]

All those times when you used to have friends. You chose to forget about them in their entirety. You don't need any perfectly sane person to see you in such a state. Nobody should, you're a disgrace. And a burden. But you already know that, don't you? [[Yes, I do.|You can feel your chest wheezing in despair with every heaving breath your hopeless lungs take.]]

You can feel those begged words reverberating off of your empty ribcage, that same ribcage where you can curl your hands around every bone, your shaking hands dancing delicately on each starved bone. pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease [[You realise: What's the point of begging if nobody is going to hear you?]]

You give up and let yourself shake and silently sob-you've become what you consider an expert at quietly and [[vigorously]] crying- for what seems like hours. "Come to me, my child." Sleep coaxes, and you fight. Eventually any strength you had dissapeared- [[even to cry, you seem to have run out of tears to shed]]- and you are pulled under; feeling as your sore eyes close. [[You are now asleep.]]

You give up and let yourself shake and silently sob-you've become what you consider an expert at quietly and [[hopelessly]] crying- for what seems like hours. "Come to me, my child." Sleep coaxes, and you fight. Eventually any strength you had- [[even to cry, you seem to have run out of tears to shed]]- and you are pulled under; feeling as your sore eyes close. [[You are now asleep.]]

Just wait until tomorrow. All of your tears will most likely have had return and you can now cry a whole river. You should know this by now, you cry everyday. That's how idiotic you are. You're such a crybaby, stop it. [[Other people have problems that are worse than yours, why are you crying?]]

Your dreams. They're anything but peaceful. Sometimes you just wish you wouldn't have dreams at all, that would be better. All your dreams, no matter how happy they start out always end up at the same place: someone you love dying. Your favourite dream is the one where you die. It always is. [[You still can't breathe.]]

You never can. You're curled up in fetal position on your bedroom floor, choking and gasping for air; feeling helpless. Almost like a fish out of water. [[You can feel your chest wheezing in despair with every heaving breath your hopeless lungs take.]]

You give up and let yourself shake and silently sob-you've become what you consider an expert at quietly, vigorously, and hopelessly crying- for what seems like hours. "Come to me, my child." Sleep coaxes, and you fight. Eventually any strength you had disappears- [[even to cry, you seem to have run out of tears to shed]]- and you are pulled under; feeling as your sore eyes close. [[You are now asleep.]] \

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting and heaving, desperately clinging to what little air your musty and weak lungs can manage to pull in. Your mouth is dry but for some reason you can taste what you can only manage to describe as magenta dipped in candle wax, accented with iron. [[You're having an anxiety attack.]]

Think quick. You crookedly yank the covers off of yourself before throwing your limp body out of bed and hobble over to the door, forcibly opening it and heading down the hallway. It seems to twist on and on forever. When will it stop? You double over and put your hand on the wall to steady yourself before continuing your way to the kitchen. You decide against going to the kitchen and opt for the bathroom as it's closer and you have a [[lesser chance of breaking something.]]

You rest your hand on the doorknob and throw your hand to the left; the door to the bathroom now swaying. You [[run]] over to the bathtub- the sink is too small and you really don't want to clean up a mess you made when you were being dumb. (The only mess you find you can't clean up is your life, it's always going to be in shambles.)

You rest your hand on the doorknob and throw your hand to the left; the door to the bathroom now swaying. You drag yourself over the cold maroon coloured tiles which make up your bathroom floor, and fling your arms over the edge of the bathtub- the sink is too small and you really don't want to clean up a mess you made when you were being dumb. (The only mess you find you can't clean up is your life, it's always going to be in shambles.) Turning on the cold water, you muster all the strength you have and stick your head under the running water. It gives you a calm sensation, and you open your mouth to drink some- only just re-realising that you're very parched. [[You feel slightly better now, but are still tired.]]

This story may be triggering to some, so for your saftey, please don't play this game if you are sensitive to any of the following; self-harm mentions depression anxiety attacks abuse (includes calling yourself names that others have.) eating disorders PLEASE: DO NOT MISTAKE THIS FOR AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL. Remember; you do NOT have to go through this alone. List of available hotlines: <a href ="http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines"> Click here.</a> [[Enter with caution.]]

Another normal Friday afternoon * Breathe. You try to breathe in, air and the ugly taste of sadness cling to the insides of your throat. You're clawing at the delicate skin, trying to find your way through so you can finally breathe. [[You can't.]] <<audio numb play>>

Your batteries are drained, but you just woke up. It is two A.M, after all. Are you going to do something around the house for once, you lazy excuse for a human being? You would eat something for breakfast, but even looking at food now makes you nauseous. But, the perks of not eating are that you finally get to look pretty. Being skinny is worth it, even if it means potential death. [[Hey, jokes on you, I want to die anyways.]]

You decide to examine yourself in the mirror, the same thing you do every morning. A major part of your monotonus routine. You lift up your shirt and are marveled at what you see. Skinny. Nothing else. Just skinny. You run your hands like a trickle of air against your ribcage and it feels as if you're playing the zylophone. You smile, and [[your teeth show.]]

You're immediately disgusted. Your teeth! They're so yellow, and... rotted? "It's fine, I mean after all, beauty has its prices." You gently reassure yourself. A voice in the back of your head, so tiny and minuscule, tries to convince you it's not fine. 'You need to eat something! Do you really want your teeth to fall out of your head, or worse yet, end up in a morgue?' It argues. 'Well, what good will it do, taking care of my teeth? I don't talk or smile, so nobody would see.' [[You decide against all of your will, and try to sleep.]]

You still can't. Your body tries to heave eyelids shut, power off, rejuvenate, relax, however none of that is possible without the consent of your brain - which it is not willing to lend. You sigh heavily and finally give in, rolling over and switching on the fairy lights which are draped over the headboard. A soft glow illuminates the room and you sit up, throwing the duvet into a bundle on the edge of the bed. You reach over and check your phone - 2:48. Tossing your phone on the mattress, you run a hand through your tangled fringe while thinking about how to possibly pause all the thoughts keeping you awake. Your brain seems to be trapped in a frame of existentialism which you can't break free from, the constant cycle of overused thoughts forever latching onto you. Sometimes, it brings you to wonder how soon you can manage to drive yourself insane. [[A war against your own mind will be enough to break the toughest soul.]]

You rise carefully, walking slowly over to the window and gently sliding it open. You wedge your body through it and sit out on the roof, straight from a cliche movie. The stars, distant beacons of light in an undiscovered universe, the cool air with just enough wind to tousle your hair perfectly. [[You just want to be sick at how common this is made to feel.]]

I can't escape the constant f e a r; [[no matter what I do.]]

You go back through your window, and shut it securely before pulling your curtains back to their original places, and walk calmly over to your desk and open the third drawer down, pulling out your journal. While opening the drawer you see that jean-coloured flimsy metal box. You shakily and hesitantly reach out to cradle it in your hands, your tears dripping down onto the object and running off of it. Without even opening it; you know what's in there. [[Your blades.]]

Everything is c o l l a p s i n g. All I can do is watch as my whole world crumbles down around me. My world delicately shattering apart, pieces falling everywhere; breaking loose, getting washed away by the tide as if it never existed at all. I can feel my lungs begin to cave in as there is no air left to fill them, I simply cannot breathe. My heart begins to implode in on itself, each beat destructing my chest a little more. Something inside of this chest of mine is hurting. I'm being torn apart. Hands are reaching inside me and shredding all I am, shattering my delicate world, everything. I can feel everything being ripped away from me and feel almost empty, like a child after their teddy has been taken from them; my arms are empty and have nothing to grasp onto. [[You turn the page.]]

There's people everywhere, I can't escape them. I'm drowning. Drowning in the constant, never ending flow, drowning in their endless talk of nonsense, drowning in their falseness; drowning, drowning, drowning. I drown a thousand times a day. I'm constantly fighting to keep my breath, beat the constant waves and tug of gravity, to stay afloat in the brutal place known as Earth. I can barely function as a human being, let alone survive a wild environment built to tear me down at every turn. I struggle every day of my life, but I don't give up, I can't. I can't let anything beat me, not now. I need to stay afloat and keep breathing. [[I have to.]]

I survive in the deadly waters by keeping my head low. By staying invisible, camouflaging, a small fish can outwit a predator. Then again, I'm not sure I even make small fish. I'm basically some shrimp; tiny and pathetic and at the very, very bottom. I'll never amount to anything, yet people like me are required in order to keep the ecosystem alive. Without losers, outcasts, loners and freaks the popular kids wouldn't stand out. [[We are sacrificed in order to make others look good, didn't you know?|angry and uneven.]]

You close the book, and slip it back in the drawer. Lying your head down on the desk, you find yourself lost in thought. I don't really have a place here, so what's the point? I know how to kill myself easily, so it really wouldn't be that hard. I know where my pills are. I can run a warm bath and put a gallon of bleach in it and let the bleach soak into my wounds. I also know how to tie a noose. These options are all viable, but [[I can't.]]

[[I know, I'm sorry.|hopelessly]]

You can't bring yourself to die, no matter how much you want to. You know it's your time to go, you're just too scared. Honestly, you want to die silently, and in a way that it wouldn't hurt anyone. At the same time, you want to die in the most gruesome way possible so everyone who hurt you can feel the same pain you felt your whole life. You also want to have your body shot out of a cannon when you die, but you know a respectful funeral is going to happen instead. [[Not this time.]]

[[Not this time, or any time.]]

Heyo! Thank you so much for playing, and as I said in the beginning there is a link to a list of available hotlines you can call if you ever feel like harming yourself. I mainly wrote this from my perspective, but I also gathered a few other views so the game experience would be more versatile. Below is a list of poems I had wrote with the intent of putting them into this game, but I never got around to it. <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UpZMpfvFjlbZ-DkyLgPdEL9iCySi8RyZ3XTcTvJKWGk/edit?usp=sharing">Poems!!</a> Anyways, that's it for now! Hope you enjoyed and thanks again for playing. Just a note: I was listening to LeATHERMOUTH - My Lovenote Has Gone Flat which helped me fuel all my emotions into this game. :) I apologise that the game was so short, btw. :))) [[End credits, and see who contributed.]]

Game Creator: Nevaeh Idea Contributers: Cas (no, not from SPN) Alex James/Gabe Ace Steff/Jesse Audio: Numb - Linkin Park I covered this with piano and added rain. Poem Ideas: Cas!! Ilysm. <3 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY POEMS ANYWHERE WITHOUT ASKING ME. DO NOT TAKE THEM AS YOUR OWN. You can ask me for poem use at <a href="https://curiouscat.me/CrankyJackiplier">CuriousCat.</a> <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UpZMpfvFjlbZ-DkyLgPdEL9iCySi8RyZ3XTcTvJKWGk/edit?usp=sharing">Poems!!</a> Be sure to include which poem you're asking about.

Those blood-caked, slim, memory-inducing metal objects are still there. You forgot about them for so long; you haven't had any need for them. You're hoping you still won't and never will. You close the box and set it on your desk, lean back in your chair, and just stare at it. The blades are screaming for you to pick them up and drag them across your flesh. You know you shouldn't. S̵h̶e̶ ̸w̷a̵s̸ ̵a̸s̴k̶i̵n̷g̶ ̶f̷o̵r̶ ̷i̸t̶.̵ ̶H̸e̴r̴ ̴d̶e̶m̸e̷a̷n̴o̷r̸ ̵b̴e̴g̴g̵e̵d̸ ̵f̴o̵r̶ ̴t̵h̵e̸ ̶b̶l̷o̴o̸d̵ ̴t̷o̸ ̶b̷e̵ ̶r̷e̶l̵e̸a̵s̴e̶d̵ ̷f̵r̶o̸m̷ ̴i̴t̵'̴s̸ ̶c̴o̶n̸f̶i̶n̴e̵m̵e̴n̶t̷.̸ ̵S̶h̸e̶ ̵w̷a̷n̷t̵e̵d̸ ̷m̷e̷.̴ ̶S̸h̷e̵ ̸n̴e̵e̴d̶e̵d̶ ̷m̸e̴.̷ You pick up the box clutch onto it's sides as you hold back ṳ̸̢̱̳̥́ͅr̶̗̠̠͚̀̿̑͒ͅg̷̹̼͚͉̾͂̏̈͜ė̴̢̨͍̬̦̭̃s̶̠͇͊̆. [[H̷͇͓̑̑̚è̶̻̙̍r̴͓̺̋ ̵͓͔̍f̸̥͉̋͋̉ẹ̴̘̣͛ą̷̺͈͑̎͝r̴̗̙̾͝ ̴̞̽͝f̵̖͂è̴̠̦l̴̨̼̿t̴̹̹̑̒ ̸̜̆̍̍l̷̰̘͉̔̀͒i̸̛̩̓̈́k̷̖̹͈̍̃̄e̵̢͙̙͝ ̴͇̙͛͐e̶̝̅͛͜c̶̺̭̺̎̀̈́s̸̛͚͉̩t̸͉̱̑̓a̵̼̟͊́͆s̶̼̼̀̇͝y̷̢̹̔̉̋]]

You squeeze the box tighter until you feel the flimsy substance pushing back against you and you throw it back into the drawer. Don't ever open it again. Her s̶̥̈͊c̸͇̏r̶̤̓e̵̝̅a̷͔̩͐m̵̙͇̅̅s̶͙͋͝ fell on deaf ears. We were a̸̟͇͒l̸̻̀̓o̴̖͂̓n̷̲̂̊e̴͎̠̐̈́,̸̢̳͝ ̷̦̜̍y̶̭͂̂e̸͓͑̏t̵̳̅ ̵͔̏ṭ̶̓o̴̙̓̅͜g̵̛͇ë̴͎̟t̸̙̏̕ͅh̷̺̓͝e̶͔̋̅r̷̲̎̿. [[No, no, no. I won't let you take me under your spell ever again.]]

Reaching out for your black-and-grey-coloured notebook, you take it in your shaking hands and flip it over a few times. With a heaving sigh you think; 'This day has been more than stressful and I've slept most of the time.' You open it up to the next blank page and [[start writing]]

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