A/n  sorry for the short chapter.

Why did that happen to me? Why did it have to be me? Why was I born like that? Why did I stay so long? Why couldn't I save myself? Why did no one stop me? Why did I do it?

Is that what I'll think when I kill myself?

How did this all happen? Where did we go wrong? Where did I go wrong? Why are there so many questions? Why don't I have answers? Where are the answers? How can I find them?

You wouldn't think there would be so many questions. You'd think I'd have this all planned out. You'd think I know. But I don't. I never had this planned. I never had my feelings planned. I'd never had to think of the world like this when I was a child. I'd been fine. Even after all the fight, all the bruises, all the lectures, I was fine. Why'd it all have to go away?

Childhood.

The one thing in life where you're innocent, carefree, confident...what happens to us afterwards? What triggers the change in us? Is it society? Is it friends? Family? Is it me? Is it you? Is it us?

How much does everyone change? Do most people stay the same? Do they keep their innocence? Or is it some sort of facade? Do they hide under a fake smile? If so, why can't anyone see it? Are we that good at hiding it? Or do you just not care? The questions never stop coming. It's a never ending bliss of imaginative scenarios, sucking you into its black hole of despair.

We ask too many questions and don't get enough answers. It's driving me insane. Why can't we get a reason for living? Where is our reason for not leaving this cruel, despicable world?

But, then again, what would change after I'm gone? Will anyone still need me? Will something bad come of it? Something good? What if they're hurt and I'm not there to help them? What if they miss me so much that they try to follow me to hell? It's terrifying. Not knowing what will happen because you're not there to witness it. But what if I'm exaggerating? There's the real problem...

The only reason I'm still alive is because I'm afraid of what happens after I'm dead.