This ones actually the only one I like

The feeling is always the same. You fall, you're weightless, as light as a feather as they say, nothing to harm you, only yourself. Yet at the same time you cannot help but feel completely useless. You always have the visions of those you love, those you would kill for, those you would die for, being tortured beyond help, beyond all remedy. All the time you feel sad, pressured by an unnerving sadness, a sadness you fear you will never overcome. Nearly the end, you constantly tell yourself, nearly time to end this horrible pain, this sorrow, this overwhelming sense of depression. You feel the impact, you believe yourself to be dead but you only find yourself in the selfsame room you drifted away from only moments before. Your pillow is wet from sweat and tears, it reeks of anguish, of the immense troubles that you have sewn and cried into it. You touch your mouth, blood streams from it, your tongue numb from biting it so hard. You now feel so alone, so forsaken, left in the dark. You want to cry out but you can't. You won't allow yourself. You can't admit your weakness, it takes too much for you to do that, too depressing, like admitting defeat in the eyes of those who knew all along they were winning. Your pride cannot take it. So, instead, you keep quiet, hold your knees close to you and rock gently, letting the tears flow unattended, uninterrupted down you face. Your mind is trapping you, not letting you move on, keeping you in the darkness, never letting you see light. Your friends all support you, they try to help you, but you know they’ll never understand the hurt, the pain you’re going through, they’ll never experience it ever. You know this, you tell them, they say they believe you but you can see, intuitively you know they don’t understand, they think it’s just the dreams but it’s more than that oh so much more. You live your life. To everyone you seem so happy, so overenthusiastic; some even consider you to be very charismatic. You play along, pretending to be something you know you’re not, pretending to be better then you actually are. All the time it’s games, all the time it’s acting, like making an alias for yourself, living a false life to protect those around you from the demon growing inside you. You are your own enemy, you cannot stand yourself, and at the same time you can’t understand why people stand you. Your double life is so hard to keep, you’re dying to break free from the prison you trap yourself in, dying to tell everyone that something is wrong, that you need help. You know you can’t do it though, no matter how hard you try. It frustrates you; you think you’ve found the key only to find that it was an illusion, a hallucination that dissipates when you try to grab it. You cannot explain to yourself how you got this way. You know it’s not normal, you know you’re not normal you enjoy and hate this. You are full of contradictions; you believe one thing yet you say another. Your there to be heard and yet you do not want to be heard. You confuse yourself, always lost in thought. You confuse others with your thoughts, leading them into a whirlwind of uncertainty. Some are attracted by this, some are not, but you care not, in fact in some ways you’d rather isolate yourself. Isolation seems to be the only solution, that way you can suffer your insanity without hurting anyone, without feeling immeasurable pain for those that you cannot help but love. Everyday you suffer and everyday your cover slips. You are losing the ability to hide your true thoughts in, to hold your true beliefs in, to hide yourself from the harsh and conflicting world. You know this is good, but you also know that you cannot bear it if you are exposed, that you are an open book. This is definitely something you cannot handle, something that you know will only damage you more until you breakdown, until it seems that death is the only solution, and then you realise, that is your solution. Ever so slowly you are being alienated. People are starting to see you are not what thy thought you were. You are being deserted. Those who you thought were your friends are betraying you. They think you do not know but you do. They deceive you, threaten you, insult you. You take each blow; they are hurting you, destroying you. You are becoming weak. They have found your weakness and bit-by-bit they are tearing you apart. Your pain is so intense and deep, too deep; the knife is so far it cannot be pulled out. Your sorrow is increasing, your sense of anguish pulling at your mind, your consciousness. You fear you will nver feel happiness again, you will never feel elation in spirit, you will never be free. You struggle onwards. You cannot hide anymore.Your pain is sinking; your surface cannot protect you anymore. Everyone can see how you're suffering, they can see you're not coping, but they do nothing. They care for you no more. You are falling, falling into darkness. You allow yourself to be swallowed up into the realms of extreme sorrow and depression. Death has engulfed you, smothering you in her arms. A dark shroud follows you. You cannot hold up anymore. It has become too much, it's falling down around you. You believe it is time. You walk to a forest in the dark. You find a grove. A rock is in the centre of a border of tall, dark, trees. Animals' eyes are gleaming in the mystical moonlight. Perfect, you think to yourself, a perfect night for what you are about to do. Death is calling you, screaming at you, it's making the pain worse. You fall to your knees; tears are falling fast down your cheeks, it is unavoidable, you do not even attempt to wipe them away. You slip the silver atheme from your pocket. It is beautiful, the last thing of beauty you'll see. You slit your wrists, relief floods you as fresh blood seeps silently through the wounds. you slash at your wrists, your arms more and more. it is delighting, so blissful. You hope it is enough. Blood covers the rock, blood glowing maliciously on the knife. You know what you must do. You thrust the knife through your chest. You scream, you scream for all the times you've wept, you scream for all the pain, the insults, the betrayal. You scream until you feel no more, the white-hot pain is leaving. is this death? You ask yourself; I am dying. Sweet death, you whisper, I commend my soul to you, I am not worthy to live...