"Curtains"

There I went, typing away at my keyboard. Every click of the keys felt familiar, like a song welcoming you home, or a lullaby that carried you gently to sleep. There was nothing quite like the clacking of the keys. I loved it. 
I typed and typed on my keyboard, overjoyed to see the works I'd drawn out in my head coming to life with the bold lettering of the sharp font this page on the website provided. I loved every moment that I could be lost within the maze of words, drawing everything out in vivid detail with the simplest of letters the world could provide.
The works I was creating gave me the same feeling a pianist would have, with every press of a key, a beautiful note. With every word a rhythm. With every paragraph a melody. Until the work could be completed and what you're left with is a piece glorious enough that the mere thought of it crossing your mind would cause your heart to melt. 
All the work you'd done finally paying off as more people outside yourself enjoy the thing you've spent an immeasurable amount of time trying to complete. The satisfaction is worth the effort as the work brings a smile to the face of the ones enjoying it.
The life within you dying a little inside, however, when one you'd hoped would enjoy it only turns their head in disgust. Had all your hard work been for nothing? What if everyone else who dares find your work react in the same manor? Your soul would be crushed, your heart destroyed. Would there even be a point in carrying on?
After endless hours of overthinking, you decide you must give up on the thing you enjoy. If that person hated it, who's to say the rest of the world won't feel the same way? Perhaps I should give up while I'm ahead.
It's the darkest things that loom in our mind too often over an unanticipated reaction that the positive reactions feel nothing more than fake. They may persist in telling you not to give up, that your work is too great for the world to lose, but in your mind all you feel is the one and only truth, anything other than negativity is a lie.
So you give up. You never touch another keyboard again. The thing that once brought you the greatest joy, now brings you nothing but misery. Why must the world curse you in such a way. Your only true talent being ripped away from you in a moment. Any time you go near what once brought you the greatest joy, now causes the scene that haunted you to replay in your head, bringing you to tears too strong to hold back.
After time passes, you realize the world no longer has any room for you and your talentless self that brings the world nothing but suffering. You decide the only way to move forward is to not move forward at all. You see the pills before you. Tears flood your eyes and nothing but a sharp pain enters your stomach as you know there is no turning back now. The only thing you ever loved and cared for has been ripped away from you. Even if you were to return to it, the creation of any other work would cause you nothing but pain.
Pain. All this pain coursing through your veins. You want it all to end. You scarf down the pills with all the strength left within you and you cry harder than you ever had before. Sadness so great it hurt for the tears to leave your eyes. You cry and cry until the pain fades into numbness. Before long, you feel nothing. The light fades into nothingness.