I’m not going to share my whole life story because I think the problems that I had or have are minor to what everyone else goes through. This fact actually makes me feel more depressed. I feel horrible for even thinking that I’m horrible and shouldn’t be alive. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m better than anyone. In fact I hate myself. A lot.
To begin my story this is how people see me: I am to most people an always cheerful person. But that is how I get by. I try not to care and live with a smile. It worked until a couple months ago. I was never the type to vent to people about how I truly feel. I never told my friends because they go through more than me so I felt if I told them about my problems I would only be burdening them with more stress. I was afraid to hurt and worry them. I didn’t talk to my family because we don’t communicate well from the start. So I went on with my life making it seem as if nothing was ever wrong. No matter what happened I wouldn’t cry or talk about my feelings. I would just bottle it up and listen to others problem and try to help them. I was fine for years but around a year or so ago I just felt more and more depressed to the point I didn’t care, didn’t want to do anything, or listen anymore. I felt done. But I have had these depresssed times before and within two weeks it would go away and I’d be me again. This has been going on for years. But this time it wouldn’t really go away. That feeling of emptiness was still in me somewhere.
Eventually I reached a point where I felt I was utterly worthless and everyone would be better without me. I saw life as a pointless cycle of dissapointment and suffering. I didn’t want to hurt or dissapoint anyone or myself in the future so I decided to kill myself before I could do anything wrong. A week before my attempt I started cutting my wrist. The pain was comforting and for a short while it made me feel better. I also started doing research on how I should go. In the end I chose drowning. I wrote my goodbye letter on my computer and tried to drown myself in my bathroom. I tried three times before I started to panick and gave up. I felt more worthless that I couldn’t kill myself. My friends found out and cried and said they care about me and so did my family. They cried too. They said they would be worse off and more hurt without me. I cried and regreted ever trying to commit suicide. The next day I was sent to a psychiatric hospital to get better. I was released within a week. In the hospital I kept telling myself I was going to get better that I wanted to. And truly I did, but after I got out I started having minor thoughts of suicide. I thought about it initally when I was in the hospital too but that eventually dissapated. Once I was out I kept thinking “what if I had tried a different method? I wish I had succeeded. Why am I still here? Don’t care about me I’m not worth it. ” But I tried to ignore the thoughts and live my life again. I got rid of the razer I used to cut myself and after a few weeks I felt better.
Now I have very few or minor thoughts of suicide. I still don’t care as much as I should about myself and others but I feel better. I’m only sort of apathetic now. But I miss cutting. I still want to cut. since I got rid of my razor I recently started to use my nails. I already have some scratch marks on my arms and cuts in my legs. I no longer know whether I got truly better or not. No one knows im doing this. I know I shouldn’t because I promised I would stop and I don’t want to hurt them, but I feel like I want it. I need it. It’s still my stress reliever.
This story still has no conclusion yet beacuse I’m still here. I’m still alive or at least trying. I just thought this place would be a safe place for me to talk about how I really feel.