ever since I was 11, i’ve hated myself. I was the last in everything, the ugly duckling. when I got skinnier and prettier and grew up in high-school, I was never happy. I always got the crappy friends who used me or just wanted to make fun of me. I learned about cutting first, it was my drug against suicide at the time. arms, legs, fingers, feet, if I could hide it I cut it. I never liked my body. I thought no-one else did either. then suddenly cutting wasn’t enough. the depression came and left, like an ongoing tidal wave that never stopped it’s loop. I thought I was alone. I just wanted to kill myself and get away from all the stress, anxiety, pain, and depression. I used to hear all the mean things people said to me like it was a breath in my ear- taunting me all over again.
fast-forward to my sophomore year in college, almost dated my soul mate for four years and I ran away from him because I was scared. I ran to other things to try and build my walls back up so they wouldn’t fall and I wouldn’t have to show that I actually never let him in.. throughout those three almost four years I tended to cut on a daily basis. but instead of using a razor blade, I used sandpaper. I’d sand down my arms until they were too raw to bleed and hurt too much to continue.. but still the depression came. it came like my best-friend and filled my dreams. because I wouldn’t let anyone in my heart before, it taunted me telling me i’d forever be alone.
tonight, is one of those nights again. when the depression settles around me like a black fog and clouds my mind. everything is dizzy and blurry, I can’t tell anything apart. my brain gets so heavy.. and the stress from school, work, friends, want-to-be-boyfriend, family, etc. is getting to me again. tonight will have been the 17th time i’ve googled different ways to die. I finally told my ex- whom wants to get back with me.. and he tells me i’m special. I don’t see it..
right now if it wasn’t for the fact of my mother finding me dead in the shower or in my bed i’d do it. my dad had to go back and start working because his first job started to bring in less money.. he travels across the country and is gone at the least 3 weeks at a time. I hope he’s home for christmas. and if it wasn’t for my mom having to find me, i’d already be dead instead of writing this.
I think I get closer each time that I look up ways to die, to actually doing it. no-one understand this.. they chalk it up to everything but me being unhappy and that they aren’t seeing me. they’re looking right through me. I think things would be different if I could count on them to listen and pay attention to me.. maybe i’ll still be here by my birthday in April. maybe the last thread won’t break then.
maybe i’ll be able to keep holding on.. idk how much longer I can hold on.
-i’m coming home, i’m coming home
tell the world i’m coming home
let the rain wash away, all the pain from yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits, tell the world i’m coming home.