It's Gods fault

Everyday I write a suicidal letter to my best friend, and every time she save me from slicing my wrist when I go home. The guilt of ending my life without saying goodbye hurts and I would just be selfish if I did not get to say it. I am the type of person that would love to end my life with a gun. The gun would feel so good in my hands, full of bullets and pointed right at my head. I want nothing more than to shoot myself in the head. I dream and ask for a blade that cuts my vein so I bleed out but no matter how far I push the blade down I only bleed for a second and not matter how much I put the lighter on my wrist it can never burn me enough to end my life. I hate breathing this air that I did not ask for. I hate my father for even thinking of having me but what's worse is I hate God. He put me here and for what? Nothing. What did I do to God to make him hate me so fling much that I had to be put here when I don't want to be.