I’m Whitney, Whitney Hope, ironic that my last name is hope when right now I’m lacking any. I say this as I look down at the sea, as I stand on the side of a cliff. I feel the fresh breeze of the sea, smelling the salt in the air, there is silence in the air with the exception of the cry’s of a flock of seagulls in the distance.

–I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t know it would be this hard–

I’m going to kill myself, at least that’s was what I was planning, now that I’m looking death straight in the eye, I’m starting to have second thoughts. Truth be told, I really don’t want to die, in fact, I’m terrified at the thought of the nothingness that might await me.

–It’s not like my life is that bad–

I laugh thanks to the nervousness I’m feeling, I start hyperventilating thanks to my anxiety, so I take a step back, tripping and falling to the ground, falling on the hard rock that served as ground. I start laughing uncontrollably as I feel tears running down my face.

–Fuuck, what am I doing? –

I feel frustrated, really frustrated. I hit the ground with my fist as I still lay there, looking directly at the sky, clouds covering it. It seems like it might rain soon, not that I mind, I don’t really care how the weather is the day I die.

–You’re not even good at killing yourself–

I keep laughing out of desperation. Again, it’s not like my life is as shitty as it is for other people who end up killing themselves. It’s not great either, it’s more so like if I had a toxic relationship with life itself, where it takes a lot from me, but then gives me “gifts” to make me keep going. Let me paint you a beautiful little picture.

So, I’m an orphan, my parents died when I was very little. I just recently inherited the money they left me, which is enough for me to live a decently good life without having to work much. My grandparents took me in, and I grew up in a caring household, my grandpa could be really strict, but I know they loved me. But they died two or three years ago, first was my grandpa, and with time, my grandma, up she went. It was a miracle I didn’t kill myself then, but I decided to go on in their honor.

I’m currently attending college under a huge scholarship, something I’m thankful for. I have always been a gifted child, my grades were generally amazing, with math and those types of sciences being my specialty. My grandpa helped me study for most of my formative years, so I formed some pretty amazing study habits. More on my highschool years later, but I graduated valedictorian. So, do you want to know what I am studying for college? Medicine? Law? Physics? Mathematics? Computer Science? No! I’m an Art major! The worst part is? I’m not even that good of an artist! I could have even tried to be a Literature major, write some best selling novels, something like that.

But what did I decide to do with my life? I decided to draw some doodles and try selling them. My grandparents were really supportive when I first made that decision the first few years of highschool, they told me that I could do whatever I wanted, that I had the capability to do it. I tried different stuff in case I changed my mind, but no, nothing really brought me as much joy as art, even if my capabilities dictated I should be a scientist or some shit like that.

Honestly? Even now art has lost a lot of its joy. It stopped being something I did for fun and to express myself and it ended up just another goddamn task. I’m doing relatively well in my classes, not as well as back in my younger years, as lack of motivation comes with the whole thing of not really feeling joy. But even if I graduate, art majors are known to have pretty shitty job possibilities, and I’m not nearly as talented as I should be to get a good job. So I really wonder if I’m just wasting my time and potential studying art. Maybe I should just change majors to physics. I might find it absolutely boring, but at least I’m good at it! But who am I kidding? I’d probably make a huge, world changing finding, and a white guy is just going to take all the credit. So why even bother?

But hey, at least I can open an OnlyFans if I’m ever short on cash. I’m not ugly, actually, I’ve heard that some people have even considered me attractive, or “hot”. I don’t really see it, but a few guys have confessed to me, but they only did it because I was attractive, or maybe they wanted to use me to do their math homework, lazy bums. I’m not even interested in guys, most of them are gross, and very single-minded. The most decent I’ve encountered have either been gay, or really broken. So in general, I’m single, always been single, I’ve had crushes, but they have all ended up in a catastrophic disaster that has always left me missing a part of myself. At this point it has happened so much that I’m only half a fucking person.

So I don’t even bother with the whole dating thing, not that I want to try, I’m still holding up on the last person who I’d connected with. I messed the whole thing up, and well, let’s just say we can’t ever talk ever again, not like they even wanted to. I’m still mad about the whole affair, I feel used, and lied to. One of the reasons I find myself here and now on the edge of this cliff. If someone who made me feel like that is willing to hurt me this much… Is there really hope?

Oh? And friends? Yeah, I don’t have any. I used to, but they all went their separate ways, so I’m now all alone, not that I even feel like making new friends, the last one’s just ditch me once my depression became an inconvenient issue. More so when I became an inconvenience. People are so shitty. I hate this world. That’s why I don’t want to still be here.

I groan as I lay on the ground.

–I should really get this over with– 

I stand up and look in the distance. Nature has always been really captivating for me, animals, plants, and geography. I don’t really know how to describe it, but it’s one of the reasons I got into art. I have considered instead of dying, better for me to put myself in a cabin in the woods and just make paintings. But we live in a society where one must coexist with other human beings, and 9 out of 10 times those other human beings are just being fake as fuck. The other 1 out of 10 are just the most wonderful people I’ve ever met, I guess. 

I can be fake too, most of the time I fake a smile, make as if everything is fine, as if I’m fine. But I’m not, and I’m so tired of pretending, I cry every night, I can’t even see people in the face. I get panic attacks at random times of the day, something I can’t even explain. I’ve tried therapy, but it hasn’t helped much. I haven’t tried drugs, I’m afraid that I’d become addicted to antidepressants, and I really don’t want to fall into the stereotype of a drug-addict artist, even if most of the time those are musicians. Honestly? I would far better prefer to be remembered like Van Gogh, who also killed himself. It’s a sad reality, knowing no one appreciated him while he was alive, and now that he is long dead, he is world-renowned for his amazing art.

I feel for the guy, and I feel somewhat identified. But it’s not like anybody is going to give a shit once I jump, I didn’t even prepared a suicide note, even if I did want to tell everyone who’s wronged me to fuck off and that I’ll see them in hell. I decided to do it at sea because I kinda wanted to be one with nature once I died, there would be nobody to bury me, or even cremate me, so it doesn’t really matter.

–Am I really going through with this? –

I swallow some spit, I feel my anxiety coming back again, I try breathing in and out slowly, anything to calm myself down. I decide to sit down, and ponder on what has brought me to this point, weighing the good things and the bad things. Decide whether there is hope, or every single promise of hope anyone, even me, has ever made me, was empty.