Voices in my Head

I try to remember why I wanted to kill myself. I don’t know. I can’t recall, but somehow I still know why I want to be out of this “reality”. Sometimes I wish I was in an empty space, where I can hear nothing, not even a sound, not even me breathing, nothing at all.

I was 12. It was long ago now. I wanted to die, but i never found the courage enough, then this person cae to me, she helped me a lot, and I don’t even remember what she looked like. I felt I was I love with her, she took care of me like no one did before, not even my mother.

When I come to write this, I realize that all this, the depression, the suicidal feelings, the hate against people has something to do with her: my mother.

I don’t know where she comes from or her childhood. All I remember of her is being authoritative, demanding and just hateful enough. I remember her screaming, calling me “son (daughter) of a *****” whenever she got mad or so… now, it all seems an invention of my mind… but I know these things did happen.

Being an emotional fragile kid as I am still, her behavior caused me severe damage. Whenever I see photos of her being careful with me, it have this hate and raw feelings, this hate and serial killer instinct, but since I can’t murder her I damage her with words and my behavior. I don’t feel proud of it, but I feel so good because some part of me feels rein-vindicated.

As I said before, I was just a kid, I was only 12. I found relief in music, I played the guitar and started to write. Writing has always been a “therapy” for me. Most of the things I wrote were all my suicidal thoughts.

But when pain was that bigger, I developed a masochistic personality. I would get needles in my veins and get blood out of me. I seemed like a game to me, like some “experimental” thing… but this little pain, the blood, made me forget for a while the pain inside.

I got over that. I no longer get blood out of me, but I continued writing. I’ve always been the great student, the nerd, and I’ve always felt the pressure of being the “good daughter”. I thought I was writing things, like being a writer, like being somehow “artistic”. But when I read the writings now, they make me shiver. I was really deep into suicidal patterns and ideas. One of it is called “Right on the Suicide Brink” which is a clear description of how I’d like to kill myself… I was only 14…

At the age of 15, I felt something weird… I liked girls… the one boy I ever liked rejected me. I felt somehow stupid and turned into girls. Nothing happened.

I am not a lesbian. I’ve had plenty of boyfriends and sex partners… I’d slept with girls, everything, yet suicidal behaviors area around the corner of my head. I did drugs, I did alcohol, I did a lot to “anesthetize” pain as I say. I go to sleep to shut the voices in my head, I go to sleep not to feel, not to think. I still want to get drunk from time to time, just to shut my thoughts, and just lay… lay in oblivion…

My family was concerned, they wouldn’t understand why I was in such erratic way of life: why alcohol? why all this mess? why? what are you playing at? what are you doing? how long will you keep playing this way? don’t you see I’m worried?”  shut it up! I don’t want to hear a thing, especially when it comes from my mom. She is the drama queen. At this point I hate her. I so want her died. If someone has to die is her, not me. I don’t want to die, I want to be left alone. I don’t want to hear her “caring voice”.

If you ask me, I don’t know why I feel this pain inside. I feel like some Internal bleeding, I don’t want to cry, I feel this empty, deep, echoing bleeding pain inside. And when this pain is so big, my hands begins to shake, my heart begins to shake, I start to sweat, I feel like walking, like running, like going out and scape but I can’t. And then, I found a solution: I started piercing my body. Not for aesthetical reasons, but to feel pain in my body not to feel the pain inside. I would make the piercing bleed and never heal so could feel the pain. So the pain in my body would shut the pain inside… I still feel this way…

I’m 23 now, and I still feel suicidal. I have every reason to be happy, to enjoy life. I have a familiy who loves me, I study, I have friends, I’m professionally recognized by everyone, I have a boyfriend and we really love each other, I have it all, even the dishes with tiny bubbles… proof that they were made by the honorable indigenous people of… wherever… But I still suicidal. Most of the times is anxiety and stress related. One thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to die. I want to live forever. But somehow pain is always so big that it leads me to develop a self-destructive personality. I abuse of alcohol, I barely eat and drink lots of coffee, I sleep a lot and everything seems to bother me. I feel this uncontrollable hate against everybody, I fell like I want to kill. I feel like everyone I despise must die by my hand. I feel like going psycho.

And at the end of this post… I feel sad… it all started when I was 12… now I’m 23 and i still feel like i can’t get over it. It’s about 10 years of feeling the same way