Tw: cutting, pills, suicide, suicide note, mean words, hatred, the f slur for lgbtq+ people. Please read with caution

Patton begrudgingly got up, sighing. He took his medication, though he didn't want to really. He didn't feel like it was having any effect on him. He still felt crappy. Nothing was getting better, it had been months since he'd last spoken to Damien, graduation was soon. He just couldn't bring himself to talk to him anymore, really.

He got up and dressed, skipping breakfast. He was typically eating once a day now, only dinnertime. It was all he could stomach anymore. He was nauseated by the feeling he got thinking about school. Thinking about the words people used.

He left his house, getting there easily. He instantly heard the insults thrown his way. He couldn't take it, so with every single one, he took one of his depression pills.

"Slut." Took a med.

"Fag." And another.

"Whore." Another. "Idiot." Another. "Dildo fucker." He didn't even know what that one e=meant, but he took another pill.

This went on all day, hours of torture. Of being hit, kicked, punched, pushed. Pill after pill after pill. By the end of school, he had taken almost all of his full prescription bottle. That was supposed to last him a month.

Good, he thought. Now he could get things over with. He felt so weary, drowsy. He felt awful, but oddly light weight, like he was floating.

He got home and went to his room, collapsing on his bed. He felt so...tired....angry, sad, hurt. He grabbed a pen and paper, shakily writing a note.

'Damien....I'm sorry, I begged you to stay strong, but I myself couldn't. It was all too much....why did you want to leave me? I need you...I'm sorry, I'm so tired...I'm gonna go now, ok? I'll...I'll see you on the other side...'

He put the pen down, tears littering the page as he wrote. He sealed it in an envelope, setting it aside. He grabbed his razor....this had been his only friend since Damien had left. He sliced himself many times, he couldn't stop. He physically couldn't.

Patton finished up, his arms bleeding heavily. He went to his closet, grabbing his belt. He didn't have a rope, this would have to work.

He put it around his neck and got on a stool. His vision was blurry...he was so tired...

Before he could even tie it onto the rod, he fell forward, lying on the floor as he bled out.