You don’t know me. Don’t pretend you care about me.

There’s almost no point anymore. My parents are never happy with anything I do. I have never been good enough for them. When I was a child an A wasn’t good enough bc it wasn’t an A+. They are sending me to a shrink bc they are christian and I’m an atheist.And they think my sexual orientation is disgusting. The man I love is in a completely different state, hours away. My old friends all stabbed me in the back. My real friends are a two hour drive away. I have no car, no money, and my parent’s house in is the middle of fucking nowhere. There are no sidewalks, and it takes an HOUR to walk to the nearest gas station(which is the closest thing to civilized life out here). No i do not have a bike, mine got stolen. So i’m stuck all alone with all my horrible memories with nothing to do all day but think. For two years, I was living on my own with my boyfriend, shit broke. I smoked a pack and a half a day. When my boyfriend left for work or got in the shower, I grabbed a knife and sliced my upper or lower arm six or seven times and he’d come back and I’d be sitting there, tons of blood running down my arm, not crying for once. I’d get drunk or do drugs EVERY NIGHT ’til I passed out. There are whole stretches of my life I can’t even remember. Then I’d wake up for work,still drunk or fucked up to work my ass off so I could buy more drugs and booze and cigarettes. I didn’t want to exist. My parents texted me everyday. They called me every name in the book. My mom said that she wished my boyfriend would die. They insulted him, his parents, everything and anything about him. Besides that, I was eating gas station food and getting dangerously thin. But most of all I was fucked up all of the time to avoid the depression. And the fights which often included screaming,slapping, beating, and being thrown on the floor for both of us. I cried every night, and thought about killing myself everyday. I never actually attempted it but one night when i got pinned down and had hands wrapped around my throat, choking me really hard, I didn’t fight it either. I thought, finally, someone is going to help me. Put me out of my misery bc I’m too scared to do it myself. But he stopped and started crying. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad that he stopped. He’s the only person in the whole world that I’d stay alive for. And our relationship deteriorated from real love to us beating each other. Fuck my life. There are so many things I don’t want to remember. I’m stuck here in a house with people who couldn’t not possibly look at me with more loathing. Completely alone. And just really really tired of existing. The closest I can get is sleeping. So I sleep all the fucking time. It’s the only time I’m happy. Or I read books where the protagonist is suicidal. Vicarious dying i guess, right?