I’m just going to write…

I’m just going to write and I’m not going to bother writing well. I know I will die of suicide, I just know it, since i was 12 i had a bet on with myself that i wouldn’t make it past nineteen, so just two years to go and it should be over. I’m not even going to bother going through all the shit I have been through, starting when i was four years old, and yet i tell people it all the time for the joy of seeing their faces. I’ve been raped and abused both sexually and emotionally (suprisingly the emotional abuse is worse) and it has just screwed me up. I have depression and I tried to get help, the doctor was a ***** who judged me, the therapist didn’t get in contact for two months and then wants to see me in my own home, which quite frankly i don’t feel comfortable in. Dear God, i have lost count of the suicide attempts, I could have done it so many times as well, i tried to jump off my roof only to slip the wrong way back into my room as i was jumping, i managed to take 7 painkillers in a field before a friend found me and  watched me for 48 hours while i was being sick instead of dying, i have prepared to dig the knife into my neck before my brother knocks the door .. . . . it’s actually ridiculous, i just don’t care much for anything anymore, but i have one person trying their all to keep me alive, and i love them too much to hurt them, i keep trying to pull away but they wont let me, through all the horrific flashbacks and hallucinations and suicidal intent they just dont get scared away. Admittedly, if they do keep me alive I have plans, i will travel the world and i WILL write. I will write to break the taboo surrounding mental illness, the system is failing people who still have hope, it is failing people with these illnesses, the general public don’t fear physical illness and yet all they have to hear from someone is “depression” or “multiple personality disorder” and they run a bloody mile and they judge (ofcourse this doesn’t count for absolutely everyone but the only people i have encountered that have understood are the people who have been through it themselves, and there is a LOT of them) . . . still, no matter these ambitions, i still want to die, i was attempting suicide at 7 or 8 and im still doing it now… it sounds bad, but the world isn’t enough and there is no point, all anything is is electrons interacting with each other, nothing is real, the only things we really like are chemicals in our brain, and mine are messed up, so if life is so pointless then i should be able to die when i want to, it’s no big deal . . . the only glimmer of hope is that although i put no value on my own life, i put value on others lives because THEY value their own lives, and if they need me then i will stay, because then it’s worth it . . . it just helps to ramble with no-one interrupting and pretending they understand when all they get is the monday morning blues…. i have a point