Here's a little fun fact about suicide:
Contrary to popular belief, most suicides are in fact planned!
Now, isn't that a wonder?

Anyways, that isn't the point right now. Today, my teacher and good family friend, Mr. Hugo Vega, asked me to stay after school today for a talk. My first thoughts were "Shit— did he find out about my journal? Did I fuck up that quickly?!" but it turns out that he wanted me to know that my parents would be out of town for a couple of weeks or months because of business. I was relieved, until he asked me if I was okay and if I needed to talk about something.

I managed to get out of the situation, but he's still onto me and my case (aka my suicide plan), so what now? Obviously I wanna die, and I've attempted to before, and it's harder than you think. I want to cut, I really do, but then someone will notice and then I'll be sent to a psychologist or sum shit like that. That's not gonna fix anything, and I'm tired of the taste of anti-depressants given to me by my great aunt (the only person who knows of my thoughts and tendencies.

Will write more shit later.
————

I saw Amanda (mah gurl) with her dad. We talked for a bit, teased each other. Nothing much. Not much to write about in here today (plus, I think that writing a bunch of insults at me isn't going to speed up my suicide deadline. Or should I say... DEADline? God. why am I like this?)

Ugh, so bored. Why did I choose 65 days anyways?! I'm such a fucking asshole.
I. Hate. Me. So. Goddamn. Much.

But Lucien was a little happier today. His smile just made my day, he's the best person I've ever had in my life, even after all my fuck-ups, he still stayed and cheered me on...

I owe my everything to him.

End of suicide entry 2, 64 days until I die.