I’m not sure why I’m here..

I’m really not. I mean, I have depression. I cut. I smoke. I do drugs. anything to make me feel the happiness that normal people do. but I’ve never tried to kill myself. I’ve wanted to. I lost my brother to suicide in 2008. ever since, I swore I’d never do it, because my family was so broken; and my mom is still devastated beyond repair. she told me the night he died that if I hadn’t been there, she would have killed herself too. she made me promise that I’d never do it. I promised, because I believed it, because I believed I was too scared to die, because, even though I consider myself Wiccan, I don’t know what to believe in terms of afterlife. and I would feel terrible knowing that once I died, I’d kill my mom too.

but there are times that I want her to feel horrible. she verbally, emotionally, mentally abuses me horribly. sometimes I want her to feel the way she should feel- like a horrible mother. sometimes I am jealous that my brother got away and I didn’t.

I’m a suicide survivor in more ways than one. I’ve never tried, but I’ve thought about it. I lost my brother to it, my cousin to it. I have thousands of scars on my arms and legs from eight years of cutting. I smoke cigarettes to feel better.. to hurt my body in almost subconscious self-injury. I do drugs to feel something besides misery or being just ‘okay’. I have back pain that has to do with scoliosis and having a surgery called a spinal fusion four years ago; since then, I have been addicted to painkillers. they are the difference between a good day and a bad day.

I have never had good luck with love. I always got my heart broken. but I now have two life partners, in a polyamorous relationship that will be a year now. we have a three month old little boy. I love them all with my entire heart. what’s left of it. they make me happier than I ever thought I would be.

why can’t that be enough?