Stopped caring

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Hey. I’m currently stuck in my mid teens somewhere in the green hills of sunny old England. And I want to die.

For years now, I have been diagnosed with depression. I feel it probably has been constant in my life, after suffering abuse at the hands of my brother, then having to care for my mother while my father worked long shifts (he is always quite submissive, meaning he had to work far into the nights, often until 11pm). First of all, I tried to go on alone, with fairly minimal support. Then I made two attempts on my life in rapid succession, both ending with me in A&E. After the second time, I ended up in a psych ward for around four months. For a brief while, I felt I was getting the help I needed. Then, after I was discharged, life only got worse.

It started with my family; my mother is the huggy type, so for some time I was providing emotional support to her, as she never seemed to love my father and her other child had left home, so she ended up relying on me to go around with her and care for her emotionally, which was difficult as she was (and still is) suffering from mental health issues which she refuses to acknowledge, much to the detriment of my family. For a while, again, I tried to cope; mental health services claimed they were nearby, but always felt rather lacking. Then, recently, I came to the point that I had to call up Samaritans (equivalent of suicide hotline), and nearly ended up in hospital again, leading to another 5 months in the same psych ward.

I was discharged two months ago. Since then, my condition has brought me to lows I never thought I could achieve. I’ve given up on help, as it never works. I’m constantly suicidal. The one thing that stops me from offing myself now is the idea of living with the consequences. I’ve got plans to kill myself, but nobody takes me seriously when I tell them.

Just thought I would vent. Couldn’t hurt, after all.