I’m desperate.
For excuses.
For reasons.
For encouragement.
Every night I have to convince myself not to do something drastic.
I have to look at myself in the mirror, and I have to lecture myself for so long just to tell myself not to cut, not to think terrible thoughts, not to attempt suicide, not to cry, not to do anything that harms myself.
I think I’m losing myself.
I’m not feeling as how I used to.
I can’t stay happy. I fake a smile when I’m in school.
But I don’t talk. People talk to me, and I nod as a sign that I’m listening. I’m done with talking.
I don’t know if I’m cutting myself for attention. If I’m acting like this for attention. I’ve never been one to crave drama or attention. I have an extremely drama-free life.
It’s just really depressing, I guess. Sadistic, I should say. That no one ever asks me if I’m okay anymore. No one ever shows concern for me.
I guess it’s a sign, expressing that I’m mature and they suppose I’m responsible for myself. But I’m not. I can’t take care of myself at all.
I don’t know what’s with me. I give myself a surplus of reasons why not to feel sad. I give myself a thousand valid excuses explaining why  should be happy. Why I should smile.
I have the latest clothes, I don’t have drama, I have a nice house, I have good grades, etc.
But it’s not enough. They aren’t good enough to convince me. I don’t know why.
I just feel as if everything would be better– for everyone– if I just wiped my own existence out of this. Can anyone relate?
Idunno. I’m being pushed. Pushed to do these things, by both myself, friends and family, and piers.
So many things cause me to use a blade as my remedy. So many things cause me to try to overdose on medicine. So many things cause me to consider making a suicide attempt at the end of the week.
And no one has noticed this.
I’ve tried my hardest to give them signs.
Small signs in which say “Please, worry about me. Ask me if I’m okay.”
That way they don’t think I’m looking for attention. That way they can think “Maybe she’s looking for help. Maybe I’m the one who should help her.”
But they never do.
3 comments
I feel your pain 🙁 It’s horrible isn’t it? To feel as if you’re all alone and to face the reality that nobody really does care. People are selfish. They just want more and more out of us and are never happy with the outcome. The main reason I cut is to focus my attention on the pain. Part of me craves that attention, but once I receive it, I immediately begin to feel guilt and shame. I hope you feel better though! Honestly, best thing for you to do right now, is to just talk to your parents or try to establish a closer bond with your friends. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you’re more than welcomed to email me 🙂
My story, right there.
I felt really depressed to the point that I had suicidal thoughts almost everyday, and all I needed/wanted was for one person, just one person to notice I wasn’t OK, and to help me.
I thought I was obviouse: not talking, hardly eating, wearing t-shirts that exposed the cuts on my arm.
the only time anyone noticed was when I was crying, and even then only the fourt person did something (first person didn’t notice me, second just wondered who was there, third asked if I was OK, which is stupid: I’m sobbing for a reason, and the fourth went to go get someone else)
People are ignorant and selfish: they can’t see our needs, and when they do, they don’t want to see, so they try and turn a blind eye.
Coming here, and joining this forum was, in all honesty, one pf the most therapitic and best things I did, because people here like you and others frel the same way, and won’t turn a blind eye to the pain.
Hang on, people out there care. I do, and I am here for you. 🙂
That’s exactly how I feel. It’s like, are you blind out there? I always cut my legs until this past month when I started actually planning my suicide. I suddenly started cutting my arms too and then barely cared enough to hide it. I didn’t even realize how obvious I was being. It’s like my subconscious was screaming for a rescuer. But yea, nobody asks, and if they ask, they’re too afraid to ask the real questions, because they don’t want real answers. And if I know they can’t handle the truth, I feel like I can’t reach out. It’s really tough.