I’m not someone who anybody would suspect to be suicidal. I’m 17. I have the top grades in my class. I’m pretty (or so people tell me). I have a great group of friends. I’m popular. I’m funny. I’m well dressed. But at the end of the day, I hate myself. I hate myself more than anyone else could possibly hate me. But I’m still here. Read this and I’ll tell you why.
As I’m typing this tears are streaming down my face. My mom just finished another round of yelling at me to kill myself and how I’m a failure who will never amount to anything in life. My heart has that feeling of someone pouring acid on it. It happens too often now that it’s normal.
I wake up in the morning disappointed to see the sun peeking through the window. Another day. This wasn’t what I prayed for before I went to bed.
I try to cover up my puffy eyes from last night’s crying with makeup. I go to school. I laugh. I complain about the petty things everyone else is complaining about. I smile on cue. All my life I’ve just put on a smile and charmed my way through every social situation, and come out on top. But I’m not coming out on top anymore. I’m faltering. It scares me. I go home. Listen to my mother yell out all my flaws. Listen to her telling me how I should kill myself. She thinks Â I’m rock solid. But inside I agree. I’m close to what she wants. I sleep. I love it. It’s like being dead without the commitment. Hours and hours and hours shaved off my life. Cheat hours. Think about suicide as I lay on my pillow. Drift off to sleep. Wake up. Do it again.
My biggest downfall is ambition. Like MacBeth. My best is never good enough. I want it all. I want the perfect life. “Good enough” is perfect. Nothing I do is perfect, so nothing I do is ever good enough. I’m always disappointed. I’m a piece of worthless shit. But I’m still here.
I’m here because they can’t win. Everyone’s who’s ever hurt me. They can’t win. My mom is depressed. Not only does she want to die, but she wants her kids to die too. Selfish. That’s not me. My dad doesn’t care enough to know a single detail about me. Careless. But that’s not me.
I am not defined by my parents. I am not defined the circumstances I had no choice on. This? It sucks. Every breath is a struggle. I contemplate ending my life everyday. But I’m still here because I can’t let them win. My life hasn’t begun yet. John Green wrote “You are going to live a good and long life filled with great and terrible moments that you cannot even imagine yet.” I’m curious. I want to know the experiences I’ll live that I can’t fathom right now. And I obviously can’t do that if I’m dead. I want to have kids and give them the love my parents didn’t give me. I want to see all the different corners of the globe. I want to fall in love with someone who makes me feel beautiful. I deserve it. Everyone has been dealt a hand of cards and mine happened to suck. To me, it’s hard to imagine I’ll make it that long alive. But I will, because I deserve it. I’ll find a way over this mountain. I will.