It’s not the how, or the why that keeps me from doing it. It’s the when. I’m not exactly waiting for something to happen to justify what would I do, or when will the perfect time would be. I’m just… finding the moment where nobody would bother.
The thing about this is, I don’t want them to see. Hell, If it’s up to me, I’d rather them forget about me entirely, for me to disappear out of their life without a trace, than kill myself and let all of them bear it. No.

But it’s not. Because even if my parents don’t pay attention that much to me, they do love me. And I know that. They keep updates about what I do, of how I am, where am I. They care. They really do. Just not enough. There’s my sister and brother who lives in the same space as I am. Since our parent’s think it’s not yet necessary for us to live separately. So I’m stuck between my sister being here in the morning and out in the night, and my brother who’s out in the morning but stays the night. There’s no time where I have the house to myself to do my thing. Then there’s my cousin who acts more like my sister than my own. She’ll be traumatized for life if I ever do that while I’m breathing the same air that she does. And there’s my bestfriend. Who can’t be left alone without me, or else she’ll crumble away like I did. My bestfriend who’s my soul, my other half, the one who would definitely take the knife and struck it in her heart the second I do. 

They’re enough to keep me stalling. For weeks, for months, for years. Until I stopped caring and just live. Because that’s how it is. We live. No matter what thrown at us. We have no choice but to live. And act like you’re still there. Living and being alive is different. It’s like opening your eyes without actually seeing. Walking but not moving. Laughing but not really happy. But it’s okay. Because that’s normal. People wish to die all the time. What’s not normal is that you wish it every second of the day, with every breathe and every heartbeat. You wish you’re gone instead.

And it’s exhausting. Dying without being dead. Breathing but being suffocated. Screaming without words being said. It’s tiring. To pretend that every time you make someone smile, you wish it is your lips that’s widening. To pretend you’re not lying every time you say it’d be different tomorrow. To hide yourself away. 

Eventually, we’ll all reach our breaking point. Maybe I already did before. I just held the tiny pieces together because I can’t bear inflict the pain I’m suffering from to other people. So I kept trying. To glue myself back even though I know long ago that there’s no chance of it ever being okay. Of me being okay.

But now.

And Now.

Now.