I think about dying way to often… it’s like every second of every day I’m trying to calculate who would miss me if I commited suicide, and who wouldn’t even notice. Like my poem says, sometime that knife is so tempting. I hope I’m strong enough to keep on living but sometimes its hard. I don’t have much motivation to live. I have no one and nothing to live for so whats the point? I don’t know… I’m just confused right now. I need help.