Now, I’ve heard by many that if you write a diary, you get your thoughts sorted out on paper, and you can look at it afterwards, and it’s supposed to be good therapy.
So this will be my diary.
Today I felt really happy. My favourite football-team won against a rival that they haven’t beaten for a long time.
I smiled, I laughed.
Now I’m unhappy, and keep finding excuses not to cut myself, although I haven’t cut in almost 2 years now. I wanna cry, cuz I think maybe that will release some of the stress I’m getting because of this.
But I’m broken. I can’t cry. I’ve been listening to Damien Rice – 9 crimes for 2 hours straight now, not a single tear. Why can’t I just cry, please? I know it will make me feel so much better..
There is a sting in my chest, and it comes everytime I start thinking “what if I just kill myself”.
I wanna do it, but I can’t. I can’t dare to think about the way my mother will take it. It will break that already fragile, fantastic woman. I love her too much to do it. So instead I live for others. For my mother, for my niese, my sisters, my boyfriend, my friends.. Even for my cat, because I know my cat loves me alot..
I hate attention. I tattoed over my scars so no one would notice.
I don’t wanna talk to anyone, friends or family.
I can’t afford a therapist, I can’t even afford the rent on my appartment right now.. My fridge is empty, I have no money.. I have no job, no education…
I wish my mother would be okay if I disappeared..
.. I wish I never was born.