People.

“Hah, so that's what this is about. You want to finally die, don't you? And letting the most important people leave is going to make it easier, isn't it?”

“Everybody leaves eventually. Tired of waiting.”

“It's easy to tell yourself that when somebody important leaves.”

“...I don't blame them. It's a lot to ask of someone to help a person with mental illness. It's exhausting, it's stressful. I... just can't convince myself to tell people that I'm worth it anymore.”

“But you wish you were.”

“Yes.”

“This is very similar to the last time, huh? It's all gone to Hell, everything's getting worse, she kills herself, you get dumped. All of this happening at once was enough to make you try the first time.”

“...I'm aware.”

“I wonder what she would think of you now, doing this.”

“Stop it.”

“You couldn't even say anything before, you were just content leaving. You want to die just like her.”

“Stop talking.”

“One of your close friends is dead. You saw her depressed. You saw her attempt to open up to you. You KNEW she wanted help. But you said nothing. You didn't want to upset her. You changed the subject. You overlooked what she was saying. She committed suicide, and then what? What were you going to tell her now that she was gone? That it was because she was unapproachable? Because you didn't know what to say to her? Because it was awkward? You can tell yourself that there was nothing you could've done, because you wanted to be a coward. You fucking failed and she killed herself.”

“I said stop talking.”

“And that's the ultimatum you want people to take. Try harder, or disassociate altogether. You would rather have them leave so there's less guilt for you, so it'll sting them less when you finally work up the effort to kill yourself. Because otherwise, with how things are going, you know that they're going to end up failing, just like you did.”

“Just stop, please.”

“All that person was to you was somebody to project your own guilt and failure onto, and now that they've given up on you, it just validates what you let happen to her.”

“They didn't give up, I told them to leave. What happened to Alice wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault.”

“Why are you still fooling yourself over that? They gave up on you. Just like everybody else does and eventually will. Everybody you care about leaves because dealing with you is too stressful, and the ones who don't are taken away because they're more fucked-up than you.”

“I don't want to have this conversation anymore.”

“Let's be real here; you aren't worth it. You aren't worth the effort of putting up with. You don't offer anything good enough to be worth sticking around for.”

“Sometimes it's just... not meant to be. There doesn't have to be anything wrong with me or the other person.”

“But there's still something wrong with you, and you know it.”

“...I don't know what's going to happen now.”

“And it won't matter. If you don't kill yourself, the depression is going to erase you regardless. It's going to rob you of your passion, your interests, your sense of purpose. Your friends won't have that person around anymore even if the body is still warm. It's just going to be an empty automaton devoid of any personality or sense of self.”

“That's... probably true.”

“You can feel yourself slipping. And when you do, whether you're alive or dead, you'll still be nobody. Nothing is going to be there anymore.”

“I. I just want help.”

“Thaaaaat's not gonna happen. What, you're going to take off work to go to the hospital? You can barely make rent. You won't be able to after spending time there, and you don't have health insurance either. When you come out, nothing will change except a cloud of debt hanging over your head and missed hours to make up time.”

“...I know.”

“And the longer this goes on, the more you become crippled by anxiety. It's not like you can stay out in public and work anything longer than 20 hours a week, let alone with people. Eventually you'll be working less and making less while it tears you apart inside even more.”

“I know.”

“And even if all those are taken care of, what's going to happen next? You can't afford to go back to school either. You can't advance your life while this owns you. Any appreciable skills you once possessed have atrophied. There's nothing you can do to improve things if this starts getting fixed regardless.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“That's why you're so attached to people. Because at least they're free. But you can't even feel validated by them anymore. Their empathy doesn't do a thing for you. There was the one, but that's dead and gone so now what? You're going to find somebody else who can make you feel validated? Who wants that job? That's how we ended up here in the first place. What do you have to offer now?”

“...nothing.”

“What the Hell are you?”

“Nobody important.”

“Your dedication to people finally died with your failure. One of the few remaining admirable things about you is finally gone, the only thing left is all of the garbage nobody wants to put up with. You're fucking empty. You really are nothing, nobody of significance.”

“Please. Just stop now, I get it.”

“No wonder you want to die. There's no way out for you anymore, is there?”

“I want there to be, but there probably isn't.”

“That's why we're having this conversation. This is best you can do before you lose your head again and then this conversation won't matter anymore. So there's some residue left in the bleak little corner of the world that we're inhabiting, so you can pretend to yourself and say you tried.”

“But not enough people will see this probably.”

“Certainly not the ones that should.”
“So what now?”
“You're going to sleep. And when you wake up, nothing will change, and you'll continue grinding away your pointless, unimportant life until something finally gives.”

“...and a few sentimental platitudes might be said, but nothing will change.”

“This has all happened before. Nothing has changed. The only change will be if you're dead at the end of it.”

“...I don't have the answer to that.”

“I don't either. We might find out soon. But what's the answer you actually want?”

“...I don't know anymore.”

“Neither do I. So go to bed. I'm tired of this too.”