A suicidal child

I’ve wanted to die not long after I’d been born. The first time I tried to kill myself was when I was four years old. And for the people who have told me that my brain wasn’t fully developed yet, its impossible, i wasn’t capable of feeling suicidal, bullshit. I remember it. I wanted to die and I was perfectly capable of feeling hopeless.  The next seven times I tried to kill myself was when I was ten years old and living in hell. I remember I brought a large steak knife up to my room and just held it up to my neck till the sun was long gone from my window. I couldn’t do it. The rest of that week consisted of me holding the knife up to my neck asking making sure I wanted to live. And I did want to live, at least  for awhile until I was thirteen and in the bottomless pit of hopelessness again. But it was nothing compared to the misery I had when I was a child. By the end of that year and when I was 14 I would just lay down in the middle of the street  to feel the rush, to feel alive and would play with knives, dragging them across my skin because I liked how the  scratches looked on my arms,but I was too freaked out to cut myself with the knives, I used scissors instead. When cutting stopped giving me a rush I turned to alchohol and pills. When you’re that depressed you don’t care what happens to you or that anything happens to you, you just want to feel good again, you just want a break from all the misery and the hopelessness that is your life to go away, even if its for a few seconds, anything is worth feeling good again. This is only a few words to the shitty book of my childhood that i cant stop thinking about nowadays. Nowadays ive turned back to alchohol, still in therapy, didnt do anything, still live in a toxic household, still go to school and struggle with my grades, still around the same fake people, still planning my escape, still wishing for the best…