[ WP ] Write a story about a teen who is about to commit suicide , but I 'd saved in his final moments by the thing he hated most of all .

It was n't personal. 
 
 It was n't to prove anything to his family, his friends, his teachers, or even to strangers. He just spent a long time suffering. But no one ever saw the suffering or the pain. No one questioned him, because no one ever saw it. He kept it hidden. His outgoing personality was a mask, something he could hide behind so that no one ever asked if everything was okay. His mask was a blend of his personality, roles in school clubs, and his popularity amongst friends. It was the perfect cover. 
 
 Deep down he felt empty. His nights were spent lying in bed crying, riddled with guilt over how someone who should be happy was n't. He felt anger at himself for his inability to get better. He felt sad that the way everyone saw him was n't how he really was. Getting out of bed became harder and harder. People noticed he was missing a few extra days at school, but he quickly kept his mask up and said it was only because he was sick. 
 
 He was sick, but not in the way others thought. 
 
 He could n't take it anymore. He had enough of the guilt, of the sadness, of the anger. They were overwhelming him and he did n't want anyone to see what he was beneath his mask. 
 
 The pills were easy enough to get. He did n't even need to talk to the pharmacist, a combination of bottles on the shelves would be enough. To the cashier, he was merely stocking up the medicine cabinet. The lady at the liquor store did n't even bat an eye when he purchased a hefty amount of vodka, merely shared a laugh with him as he commented about the party he was attending this weekend. 
 
 The house was quiet, everyone in bed for the night. Over the past hour, groups of pills were washed down with shots of vodka. The world was beginning to get blurry, and that's exactly what he wanted. The ability to shut down, to turn off the negative feelings for good. Everyone would comment in the future about how they never saw it coming, or wished that they could have helped, but he never wanted that. The illusion was far more important. 
 
 As the alcohol took hold, the feelings amplified. The feelings of guilt, anger, frustration, emptiness, and sadness turned into pure hatred. He grabbed more of the pills and another shot of vodka to ease the pain. He just wanted out of the pain and the suffering, and he could feel himself getting there. 
 
 As the world began to fade, he caught a glimpse of himself in the closet mirror. For the first time he saw himself without his own mask. A man who had given up keeping the mask on had finally revealed to himself who he was. As he struggled to stand up, he began fumbling for his pockets to search for his phone. He could n't find it, and he felt his vision fading and standing was becoming difficult. 
 
 He fell over into his dresser, and saw his phone on top. He quickly dialled the 3 digits. The person on the other end had no clue how little time he had, and struggled to understand the slurred speech of the man who had called. 
 
 He fell to the ground, smashing his head as his phone hit the floor next to him. 
 
 As he closed his eyes for what he had originally hoped to be the last time, the faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.
