This question is always in the back of my head.
Why the am I here?
Why can't I be normal?
Why am I never good enough?
Why am I so ugly and fat?
Why don't I have the voice, the instinct that tells me to survive, to do everything possible to keep myself living?
I don't know. I just don't. I welcome death. I ask for it, wish for it. It isn't normal.
It comes to a point where you're so miserable and done that you'll take your own life.
I'm not sure when it got this bad. I've always been depressed, no one ever saw, I hid it, always had a smile on my face. It was fake. Ask anybody, i was a happy girl, smiley, energetic, and just full of joy. That made things harder too, having to hide how i felt inside, it was exhausting. Things got so hard in school, there was so much stress. The girl that used to love school now dreaded it. It wasn't just that it was hard, I hated everyone there. The teachers, the students. I wasn't bullied, technically. It was just little things people would say about me. I already hate myself, so much you wouldn't believe. The things they would say hurt, even if they weren't trying to say anything remotely bad. All little things I take to heart, you can't joke around with me. I think people are lying when they tell I'm pretty. And then they would see my sister and go crazy telling her how gorgeous she is. What about me?
I started practicing self-injury. Cutting. It was an instantaneous release of stress and all my bad, suicidal thoughts. Addicting. Like a drug. There's no better way to describe it. It started with a thumbtack, after a while I needed something more. So it led to a razor, I took it from a pencil sharpener. It led higher and higher up my arm and got deeper on the way up. It got to a point were I wanted to stop but I couldn't, i was addicted. You do it once. It helps, then you feel guilty. So you do it again, just one more time you tell yourself. Ha, as if. You get stressed trying to hide the cuts, someone might see. So you cut again to get rid of the stress the cuts have given you. And so, you see, it's a cycle; a vicious cycle. You try to stop it but you can't. Also, the more blood the better. I don't know why but it's true. You can't wear any short sleeves anymore, people question you, aren't you hot it's 80° today, it's embarrassing. There's a moment of severe panic when you're sleeve slips up, or someone wants to look at your bracelets. You always have this constant feeling of panic. You always feel paranoid and scared of someone seeing. Then there's the guilt too. Cutting helps but also adds to your hate for yourself. So, I labeled myself as the freak. The cutter. Emo. My parents found out. They were mad, surprised, I hid it so well. They made me go to a therapist, she doesn't help much. She soon referred me to a doctor who could prescribe me medicine, antidepressants. I was diagnosed with depression, body dysmorphic disorder, bipolar disorder. I attempted suicide, it wasn't for attention, I didn't want to fail, it was quite disappointing. I wanted to succeed at something for once. I was put in a mental hospital for a two weekends. I felt like people were going through to much trouble for me. I made old friends cry. They thought it was their faults, my cutting and suicide attempt. There are few things and people that make me happy. I don't have many friends, I mean I have tons, just only a few REAL friends. Let me name them, Hope, Raven, Nathan and wow, less than I realized.. Nathan, there is just something about him. Fuck, I just can't explain it. He's just kind, different from other guys. I think I love him. Ya know I just can't express it. But I know he'll never like me and he doesn't think about me like that. It's kind of heartbreaking. It makes me depressed. Raven, she's such a beautiful girl, gorgeous. She's the kind of person everybody loves, she's just kind and sweet. I love to be around her. She has issues with herself too. I just want her to be well, I want her to know that she can talk to me, I understand her. Hope, she is pretty, beautiful gorgeous. She wants to be a model. I feel so fucking worthless next to her. Yet I still do everything with her. It gets hard sometimes, she's just so much better than me. She really hurts me sometimes, like I'll ask her questions that should be really easy to answer, and she hesitates. I love all three of them. I would do anything for them, lose my life for them, give them anything. Yet I'm always scared, scared of losing them. I'm scared I'm not good enough for them, that they'll find someone better. Honestly, I know I'm not good enough. They deserve someone better, someone as good as them. I only bring them down. They would be better off without me. There I go again, putting myself down. Some days I just sit up in my room. With a blade tight against vital veins, and a handful of my stolen vicodin. I just sit there contemplating why I should pull the blade across my skin, and swallow the pills, and why I shouldn't. I have more reasons why I should just do it already. There are just those few faces that flash through my head that stop me, I wish I could do it. Part of me wants to live, deep deep down inside, I know it. I just can't make that part of me surface and take over; I don't think I ever will... I think I'll kill myself eventually, I hope so. I dont think I'll ever recover, I think I'll always be an emo freak.