What a surprise.

This is going to be more of a rant really. Knowing me, a long(-ish?) post. My apologies (If anyone even goes on to read this) for probably many clichés and awful English. Apparently I’m a fairly good writer. Pah, I wonder who’d still think that after reading my journals? No, I think that people on here and around me are just kinder than I deserve. My friends deserve so much more than me (I’m sorry…).

But yeah, ‘what a surprise’. Choose to die. Fail. Find more reliable ways to die. Fail. Set a date: 101252. Ooh, what a shocker – fail. What’s my freaking problem this time? Oh yeah, science modules have decided to be conveniently set at the end of the month. Brilliant. That means if I committed, then I’d have made my friends fail their exams. Absolutely brilliant. I’m a professional screw-up though, so I doubt my having a negative impact on people would come as much of a surprise. Blah.

I read over some notes a couple of days ago. I’ve always had a growing hate towards myself, but now I don’t even know what to do. I hate myself a bit more than I know what to do with… it? I don’t know how to explain it. Previously, just hitting myself a fair bit would do the trick. Now I hit myself for about half an hour and I still hate myself just as much. My days are so productive.

I’m 16. So everyone keeps telling me how it gets better ‘with time’. Ultimately, time brings death. ‘I live to die’. Sure, ‘hold on to the good things’, right? Kind of hard to do with flashbacks and black thoughts everyday. So thanks for being optimistic for me, but all ‘time’ has ever given me is more reasons to kill myself. I now have over ten times more reasons to die than to live.

It probably sounds ungrateful of me, but sometimes I really wish people would stop trying to persuade me to live. Really, if even friends telling me they’d commit too doesn’t stop me, I highly doubt something else will. I don’t want to marry, I don’t want to have children, I don’t want all those things that everyone tells me I’m ‘never going to have’ if I commit.

I told you I was a bad person. I’ve been trying to tell some of you for over two years now. You always choose not to believe me though. You just shove aside my comment with ‘compliments’. But to me, they just sound like lies to try and boost my self-esteem. I know I have a low self-esteem. Sure it brings problems, but I’m fine with it now. Would I like to be able to say so-called good things about myself? Eh, it’s not compulsory. Shan’t waste time trying again, after last time proving to be such a great failure.

Oh, and guess what this fucking lovely dear has been doing the past four months? Dumping all her problems on a friend who is nearly two years younger and shouldn’t even know me. Hopefully that didn’t sound like I don’t think younger people aren’t as able to deal with things. My friend has already proven that wrong. “I’ve got a ridiculous amount of shit going on, and you are the top of my list.” “You know I willingly try to help you with ‘this’ fuck all the other stuff.” And she does. But she shouldn’t have to. Why should anyone have to bother with me when there are people – even my closest friends – who need help? Why should anyone have to waste their time on me and deal with my petty problems? The only ‘real’ problem I’ve had is being sexually assaulted. I don’t know why only the most recent time affected me so much. School knows about that time and consequently, as do my parents. My friend knows that it’s happened before. But all of that isn’t even really a ‘problem’. It was my fault that it happened anyway. I’m used to that; everything’s always my fault. I deserved it. I’m used to that too. But I guess it just took me by surprise – it’s not exactly the same as hitting or cutting yourself after all.

I have another ‘risk assessment’ session next Monday. It started off brilliantly, me being ‘open’ with her like a teacher (One who I’ve probably bothered the most) asked me to. I didn’t even know this psychiatrist. Of course, at the end of the session she decides to ignore what I’ve been led to believe was ‘confidentiality’ and tells my parents everything that I’ve talked with my former counselors/psychiatrists about, bar eating issues. Telling my parents how I had planned to kill myself – fine, I dislike it, but it’s understandable. How exactly is them knowing that I have undesirable company (‘critical voices’ in their terms), had panic attacks, or anything else, at all necessary? I’m obviously not going to talk to you after that. It isn’t solely resultant of ‘social anxiety’ (Though I admit that’s often the case elsewhere), and that’s why no one else ‘mentioned it as such a problem’. But I shan’t correct you.

“How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?” Brilliant question, that is. Especially as they don’t elaborate, nor ask me to. I can say “2” on one session. Then that “2” becomes normal for me, so to avoid going into negatives and keep me almost sane, I ‘move’ my scale. 5 is normal. So 2 becomes the new 5. So then they think I’m feeling better. They chose to assume and jump to conclusions, so I do wish that I would stop being told to “tell them the truth”. I am being truthful. Not once did I say I was feeling better. I just said my mood was normal.

I have a different ‘understanding’ of a fair few things. I’ve only been able to outright lie – when necessary (i.e. to ‘protect’ myself) –  to two people, with one recent exception (and I regret to say that that exception was with the said most-bothered teacher). Vagueness serves as an often sufficient substitute. I can mislead people though, all thanks to people’s assumed ‘mutual understanding’ of everything. I know ultimately, it’s still lying, so I shouldn’t really do it. But I see no reason to bother people who have more important things and people to spend time on. They shouldn’t have to care about me. And in response to any “they want to care for you”, they shouldn’t even have the option to choose (Though personally, I still doubt that caring is by choice).

I used to be a fair student. My teachers’ favourite word seems to be ‘conscientious’ – a word mentioned in all my school reports. I was told I was conscientious this past Thursday, in fact. If only they knew how much that’s changed the past month. I used to motivate myself to do work because I was terrified of being told off (after a lovely primary school incident…). I’d put effort into it because I didn’t want to fail (though failing would seem to be my strong suit). Alas, such thinking has abandoned me. I no longer care if I get shouted at or do awful in my exams. I don’t even have the time to care; time is spent persuading myself not to commit each night. And besides, it would actually be quite good if I was shouted at – sometimes it almost seems like people don’t want to punish me or something. And getting bad GCSEs isn’t going to affect me. In fact, it reminds me that the place I’ve been offered at the school’s Sixth Form will (hopefully) be taken away. I didn’t apply, but my teacher being the amazing person she is, put me down on the applications list anyway. However, I’m pretty certain they wouldn’t still accept me if my grades are dreadful.

Besides, they won’t have to. After realising (a bit too late) that there really isn’t a ‘best’ time, or a ‘least damaging’ time to commit suicide, I’ve decided to do it whenever I’m ready. I’ve put a lot of thought in letters these past few years. I don’t think I’ll bore everyone with all my problems (i.e. my life story), because not only would that take about 5 pages, but no one needs nor wants to know. No, I’ll probably just be using inevitable clichés (again, ‘what a surprise’), saying sorry to everyone I’ve bothered etc. I did consider trying to lighten the mood by using a little ‘joke’ my friends say (As I am named after a flower, I’m often said to be ‘photosynthesising’ as I don’t eat, or am referred to as a ‘plant’):

“I’m a plant!
And what do plants do?
They grow and grow (Though I seem to be still rather short), but then they wither and die in the winter’s cold.
But after winter, they are reborn into new, stronger plants that flower in the summer.
Maybe the human version is reincarnation – perhaps Buddhism is onto something there…
Guess I’ll be finding out!”

No, none my suicide notes (‘drafts’) have ever been particularly ‘good’ – if they can be such a thing. May I mention that at the time of writing this particular note, I was still on some level of a ‘littling’ state. So this one is substantially… different, to say the least.

It’s odd, how easy it is to write hundreds or thousands of words about what’s going on in my mind, but I’m completely stumped when faced with an essay to write for school. But I suppose it’s sort of an ‘obvious’ thing too… Maybe that’s why a certain someone treats me like I don’t know anything.

I’ve just realised anyone who has actually cared enough to ‘make it’ this far is probably bored out of their mind. As to begin with, my apologies.

LilBear