There isn’t anything left in me. Maybe there wasn’t anything here to begin with.

I’ve been suicidal for more than half of my life. 22 years, sometimes it gets better, but I always end up coming back. I don’t understand why I have to keep trying when I know that there isn’t anything inside me to try for. I’m nothing. I’m not real. I’ve been a shell for as long as I can remember, going through the motions, trying to make everybody happy, but inside I am totally empty. And I don’t understand why I have to live this way. I’m not worth keeping around. I’m nothing.