I don’t make sense. I hate myself. I want to die.

I dont understand why people make such an effort to keep me here. I mean, if I did it, if I killed myself, life would go on. Maybe they would be a few memories, maybe even some tears. But afterwards everyone would have to get on with their lives and I would become a distance memory. So, surely, the only one which should care about me should be me. I hate myself, so I should go.

I have few friends, I’m awkward, I start talking about something then stop half way through the stories and go silent because I don’t want to talk anymore. When other people talk I interrupt with something completely irrelevant. Sometimes I just get up and leave because I don’t want to be there anymore. I hate things for no reason. I love things for reasons I can’t explain. I trust the wrong people, and ignore the right ones. Somedays I dance alone in my room to my favourite songs and I think I’m like this because I’m different. Then other days I play those same songs but they just don’t have the same effect and all I can think is about how ill never fit in.

I laugh when people call themselves weird, just because they drew a moustache on themselves or made a unnatural sound. Because I know what weird is, and I live in its body. Sometimes I cut not because I’m depressed, but because I like the pain, or I want to make pretty patterns that won’t go away. Other times I cut because I hate myself and believe I need to be punished. Sometimes I think how its just a taste of sweet death. When I say these things to those who stayed, all they tell me is different is good and I should love myself. But I don’t want to be different. I want to be loved. Like I was all those months ago before I turned like this. When, yeah, I was a tad unusual, but not…what I have become. I miss old me, and I can’t get her back, she’s like a little sister you don’t want to tell your secrets to incase she tells mum.

I like to try and get threw to her, pretend she’s a different person and talk allowed to that little girl, I tell her whats going to happen and how she has to be strong, but she just waves me off and tells me thats never going to happen, because she never die believe those things were going to happen. She was so unprepared, and thats why when it did happen, she couldn’t take it, couldn’t live with the change, so she changed herself instead.

I’m using this blog more as a journal, to discover myself and maybe learn from it now to deal with my problems.