not sure where this is going…nowhere happy, though.

I’ve gone through the years hating myself progressively more.

I remember a few years ago, I had this constant belief that I was fat and must lose weight, so I ate virtually nothing for a while.

I remember feeling fat when I did eat and attempting to make myself throw up.

I remember feeling so sad I’d go home, crawl into bed and cry for hours.

I remember sitting in lessons and subtly scraping my nails across my skin and just feeling raw.

I always preferred scratching to cutting, it just felt more real, more physical…and easier to lie about.

The suicidal thoughts didn’t start until after most of that had blown away.

I was still sad and overemotional, but I didn’t diet obsessively and I didn’t cut or scratch.

And then I became fixated on the thought of just disappearing.

That was all at first, I’d just often be sitting around somewhere feeling desperately alone and I’d want to just disappear, to cease to be.

I wanted to disappear.

I don’t think that dying is disappearing, because you’re still there despite being nothing more than a shell of a once living person.

That was the thing, I was already the shell, I was already dead inside, so death didn’t mean much.

And then it became stronger, scarier.

Instead of just wanting to disappear, I wanted to simply sleep forever.

Eternal sleep. Eternal unawareness. Eternal silence.

And I guess that’s death, really.

So then I just wanted to die.

And I knew how I could die as well, although it would have been risky.

I planned on going to the doctors about my sleeping problems and getting pills.

I then thought I could save up the pills until I had enough.

And then I planned on taking them all one night.

And going to sleep.

Forever.

And then I realised that I couldn’t do it.

That I wouldn’t do it.

Because what if I didn’t succeed?

If I didn’t succeed, people would know my secret and I’d have to live with them knowing.

That would take away any chance I had of sleeping forever.

And they’d ask me questions.

I’d be put into therapy, made to talk to my parents.

So much talking.

Too much talking.

And for me, living with suicidal thoughts is better than attempting and failing.

So I have to fight this.

And I will fight this.

Because fighting it is better than having to explain to those I love that it isn’t their fault, that I’m just screwed up.

And that’s another thing that scares me.

Nothing anyone did has made me this way, I’ve been treated with love and care and respect all my life.

And I know that my dad’s been depressed and suicidal before.

So maybe it’s due to genetics.

And that scares me.

Because I might have children and I want to have children.

But I can’t stand the thought of them feeling like I did, like I do.

Because I’d blame myself for being this way, for not being the person they could talk to.

For not convincing them of their worth and value in this world.

But I don’t want my mum to feel like that, because she’s amazing and perfect and did everything she ever could have done.

It’s not her fault I’m this way.

And I don’t even know what I’m trying to say here.

Or what I think.

And I just need some guidance, some explanation.

Can anyone give me that?

Can anyone explain myself to me?

Does anyone else feel the same?

Or are you all just as confused by me as I am?