I Enjoy Every Inch Of Sanity.

I called one of my best friends from school crying, "Hello?"

"Would you care if I died?"

"Frank, don't be stupid. You're not going to do it. You're too much of a fucking pansy."

"Yeah? I'm a fucking pansy. Okay."

I hung up and dug my head into a pillow and took deep breaths, trying to stop the crying.

Maybe everyone else are fucking pansies. Maybe I'm the strong one.

I sat up on my bed and stared at my dresser.

Should I?

I got up off the bed, wiped my face and tried to stop crying.

Walking towards the dresser I wiped my face a few times more. I can't be crying while I'm killing myself. I have to be strong. Don't be a fucking pansy, Frank.

I opened the dresser drawer and grabbed my new Paxil perscription and a razor. I've already looked up if I can OD on this or not. This is perfect.

I smiled. It must have looked psychotic, standing in the middle of my room smiling with a bottle of pills in one hand and a razor in the other with a tear strained face.

I'm not fucking crazy.

I sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and putting down the razor.

I opened the bottle of pills and put a few in my mouth, swallowing them dry.

I smiled again, grabbing my razor.

I examined it before putting it to my wrist and carving Pansy, and I let the hurt bleed out of me.

I am not a fucking pansy.

I poured the rest of the pills in my mouth and swallowed them, when I heard sirens outside.

I sat frozen and heard a knock on the door.

I didn't answer them. I couldn't.

I heard my door open and a people walk in my house.

"Frank? You're going to be okay!"

No, I don't want to be okay. I started crying loudly.

A built man walked into my room, "It's going to be okay. I swear."

I cried harder and he picked me up and brought me into an ambulance waiting outside for me.

All I could do was cry.