This is kinda how it all started.

I don’t know why I’m writing this, maybe it’s to release all my feelings somehow but I don’t think it’ll make a difference. I didn’t have a great childhood. My parents always fought and my dad was/is abusive. It hurt to see him hurt my mom and my two younger sisters. I used to care that he hit me but I got used to it and I just wanted to protect everybody else. Heck, I used to crave him abusing me because in my head that meant scars, bruises, belt marks. Evidence. I hoped that one day it would get so bad that someone would notice. Someone might care. Someone would do something. It never got to that. To this day I still want it. When I was in 6th grade I wanted attention. I guess looking back I think my parents didn’t give me the attention I needed, it was also the first time my mom ever had to work. I told my teacher that my parents fought a lot. I eventually told her that all the fighting led to violence towards my mom and us three kids. She was my, I guess you could say mentor. I thought talking about would be enough for me. One day I come home and there’s a man in my house. He asks me about my dad and I spilled. My teacher told. I know she’s forced to do something about it but I was 12. I felt like she betrayed me and she was trying to get rid of me and all my problems, my baggage, onto someone else to handle. I can’t blame her now, but it hurt me. My dad stopped for a while. My whole sophomore year of high school I was depressed, save a few bipolar mood swings where I was “happy”. I received less and less attention, I hardly ever saw my mom because of my school and her work schedule, my dad is disabled, sick, and angry all the time, but especially because I have a rebellious younger sister who takes all the attention. I admit, I’m jealous, but I still sought the attention. I needed it. I had a friend who was going through a depression, she cut. She influenced me unknowingly to start cutting. I loved seeing the scars but cutting isn’t really my thing. I felt bad because people actually do this because they do want to hurt themselves, and they’re not looking for attention, unlike me. After starting to get close to her I became severely depressed. I wanted to kill myself. No one really noticed, except for one person, my language arts teacher, Mrs. M. Since my mom never accepted my affection and love, I guess she was going to fill my mommy void. We once had to write poems about ourselves and mine was a cry for help. I wrote about about how I feel worthless and I want a life worth living. I don’t know if it was that that set her alarm off or if it was that I went from having a having A’s and B’s to C’s and D’s, or my negativity, or the somber look I always gave her. It was most definitely a mixture of everything. I passed her a paper one day as I was leaving her classroom and I was supposed to turn in something that was due a long time ago that she had checked already. I told her I didn’t do it, and she asked my what’s wrong. I didn’t make eye contact with her and I rushed out of there. Inside I was thrilled. Someone cares. It’s not even that much but it meant so much to me, too much. That day I thought all day, should I tell her about my depression. I asked a friend about it because she knew I wanted attention but later she understood that I needed it to come from an adult. She advised me to talk to her. I came up to her in class and asked her if we could talk. It was our 3rd to last day in that class and everyone was signing yearbooks and talking so no one noticed us go outside. It took me a while to get it out but I told her. I said I was depressed and that I had suicidal thoughts. She asked why, but I couldn’t come up with anything worth killing myself. Nothing would’ve seemed bad enough for her. I told her I got sick of living the way I do. Getting treated like crap and getting no attention. Feeling worthless because no one would notice if I disappeared. She said she felt honored to be the person I chose to tell. She told me to get my stuff and that we’re going to go the counselor’s office. I was confused. I was upset too. She took me there to talk to someone else. I was being forced to talk to some vice principal who was totally insensitive and he asked me why. I cried and told him a little. He then asked me if I wanted to talk to a female instead and instead of seeing it as him pushing me away to someone else, I appreciated it because it was so awkward. I got to talk to a nice counselor, Ms.B, who was a substitute for me to the real counselor who deals with my situation, she was out to lunch, Ms. B wanted to talk to me as soon as possible. It was strange. I never talked to her about the abuse. I told her that I think I’m bipolar and she advised me to go see a doctor. Our conversation ended up as me sounding like a spoiled kid who wanted the most attention from my parents out of my sisters. I make it difficult. I have to do more nice things for people in order to fix this. I didn’t like how she portrayed it. She told me I had to talk to my parents. Obviously I didn’t want my dad, so if anybody, I wanted my mom. Ms. B got a call from Mrs.M saying that she called for my dad to come and he’s on his way. I started to cry because I did NOT want to discuss this with him. Ms. B was confused but I told her that I was just really nervous. We talked my dad was shocked and he said all I ever do at home is sleep and then get up late and do my homework and then get 4 hours of sleep again for school. I had previously told Ms. B that I sleep to escape. The interpreter, my dad doesn’t speak English well, had said to him that sleeping was easier for me to deal with that being, well, awake and conscious. The drive home was completely silent. I got home and went to bed. He didn’t want me to sleep. I was a little comforted by that but I still wanted to sleep because I couldn’t take all that happened that day, in. He told my mom but she didn’t say anything to me. I got to school and Ms. B called me up. She asked me if I talked to my parents and I told her no. She was upset that I didn’t because “that was the whole point!” She told me I had to. And I said soon. That was it. She never called me up again but maybe it’s because there was only less than a week left of school and she was busy. I never really talked to my parents but my mom brought it up casually in front of my sisters. “Oh are you gonna kill yourself?” I was really upset that she said it in that tone. I asked her why she didn’t say anything before and she said she didn’t because I was about to be late to school because she was taking too long and I was mad at her and she thought that I was going to hit her because I’m crazy. Me being crazy was her explanation for me wanting to kill myself. I gave up on that battle. My dad has gotten more violent over this summer break but I’ve been less depressed. I stayed up late watching a tv series online and I went to bed in the morning. I woke up for a while but I was too exhausted to stay awake so I went back to sleep for a few hours. My dad later asked me if I wanted to kill myself. I guess he remembered  my main reason for doing that. But really? How could he say it so heartlessly? Now I’m lost. Me and my dad are fighting because I won’t talk to him. Not after he hit me 3 days ago because my sister was being too loud and he thought it was me. It’s getting to his head and he won’t stop treating me like crap. Every single thing I do is getting under his skin. I feel bad that I get over that he hit me. My sisters get over it pretty quickly, but I don’t. Whenever he’s attacking my mom I defend her by hitting him back and I do the same when he hits me, at least if it’s a really bad fight. He is bipolar. So sometimes he’s the complete opposite, which makes it so hard. He a funny, playful dad one day and then it’s abusive dad the next. I always try to figure out if I should love him or hate him. I can’t feel just one way. But he’s a huge contributing factor to my reason for ending my life. I don’t know if that counts for anything. Today I decided to spontaneously write this because I started going back into my depressed cycle. My suicidal cycle. It’s currently 3:30 in the morning. A few hours ago I was completely fine, but something triggered all these feelings to come back. I looked back at my tumblr blog where I had written out small things that I wrote when I was down and I guessed I reminded myself. I want to kill myself but then I don’t. If I did I’d be doing it for attention, but what’s attention good for anyway when you’re dead? Now I’m seeing all my friends with other friends and I’m getting jealous. They get to be a teenager. They have friends to spend their summers with and me…I’m sitting here debating my survival. I guess I’m done here…If you’ve read this far, thank you for caring.