I’ve wanted to cease living since I was about 9? The first knowledge of suicide I had, at 7, seemed appealing for a second only because my mom still hadn’t tried apologizing for not showing up, nor did she try contacting at all. I don’t think I even have the energy to even explain why the prospect of suicide still hangs in the back of my mind, more prominent than I’d like to admit, but it’s all relevant. I hate putting the few I have through knowing me any longer. I’m miserably horrible to be around. I make them feel awkward, because I tell them how jealous I am of them. I really am jealous though. And I keep looking for solidarity that won’t ever come and a sense of trust from someone. The physical and emotional pain I’ve been through isn’t the worst ever, but from everyone I’ve met, I can’t find anyone who can seem to relate on this level of pain. And that’s so hard at times.
I’m sure I’ll write again. With more details as to why I could easily quit living. Just another mistake with mommy and daddy issues.