I drive back to the hotel. I grab my bottle of wine and go into the bathroom. I don't understand the purpose of killing yourselves in the bathtub. That seems to be what people like doing in movies. I start crying. Screaming. Yelling. It's the only way to get rid of my grudges.

I scream about how I hate my life.

I scream about how I hate myself.

I scream about how I hate my dad.

I scream about how I hate my mental illnesses.

I scream about the bullies at school.

I scream about everything.

It makes me mad.

It boils my blood.

It's what makes me pull out the box cutter in 0.2 seconds and start scraping as deep as I can. I make three deep cuts before blood starts dripping on the floor. I drink some of the wine. Then, I take some of the pills. Then I make four more cuts. More pills. More wine.

This isn't quick enough, though.

I want it over, already.

I want to die faster.

I chug the rest of the wine.

I make eight more deep cuts on my other arm.

My vision is blurring and my cuts prove that because they went from being straight to being slanted.

I take the rest of the pills in the bottle.

I begin to sweat really bad. My heart is pounding so fast and I'm wheezing. I begin finding it hard to breathe.

I set the box cutter and pill bottle beside me.

I take one last look at the horrifying scene in front of me, before looking at the ceiling.

"It's finally over." I mumble.

Then I close my eyes and let the infinite darkness take over for good.