Suicide...Just...Suicide

Sometimes, I have moments where suicide seems like a good idea. That if I end it now the pain will end; taking the cowards route just seems so easy. I would love to look on from my grave as the haters, the watchers, the judges realise what they have done.
         Sometimes, I need someone to realise that when I say I'm fine, I'm not. All it needs is a whispered affection, a quick embrace, the surety that someone does in fact care that you are here. When that person isn't around, I think to myself how, in the grand scheme of things, I mean nothing and I would be better off six feet under.
         Then, I remember.
         If I die, that's it. For all the pain I'm going through, there's always a light at the end of the tunnel - a soft breeze, a flower, a beautiful haze over the top of a mountain in midsummer. If I die, I won't feel anything but that includes the good. I guess I'd like to suffer the pain and, at the end of the day, have something to show for it, rather than just give up. I want to be the one who gives hope, who proves that the clichéd "it all gets better" is in fact true.
         I want to be the evidence.
         I want to be the truth.
         I want to be the girl who never gave up.
         The one who proves there is hope.