I Hate Myself

I know that those silly tests about depression on the Internet don’t count as an actual diagnosis, but I still take them every once in a while. I used to get results saying that I was just feeling a bit sad; more recently, I’ve been getting one concerning answer: I’m severely depressed. My most recent school year was extremely stressful, and there were times at which I couldn’t handle it. I just wanted to give up and throw my life away, especially when my final grades didn’t even end up as I wanted them. I think all of that stress and failure really took a toll on my already-screwed-up mental state. Even before that year, I used to contemplate suicide; thanks to all of the misery I was forced to endure, my desire to die has grown immensely. It’s not like I was bullied or anything, though. I just took on much more than I should have, and I ended the year with undesirable results. That would be fine if I had a normal mind, but I’ve been cursed with perfectionism. I constantly analyze my performance, and I’ve always felt that I’m never good enough, even when I still had a 4.0 GPA. Now that my GPA has slipped, I feel like a worthless human being. I know that such thoughts are irrational, but I can’t stop myself from thinking that way. I’ve completely lost my motivation to live because I feel as though I’ll never accomplish anything. To make matters worse, my mother is constantly complaining about money now, and she keeps mentioning the fact that I never do anything nice for her. She makes me feel like an awful daughter and a major financial burden, and I feel like her life would be better without me. My dad has been getting angry with me a lot, and my brother could probably have more nice things if I wasn’t around, so I feel as though their lives would improve with my disappearance, too. And none of my “friends” really seem to care about me; they don’t even know about my miserable mental state. My parents don’t know, either. I’m hiding it from everyone because I don’t want to be even more of an annoyance than I already am. Yet even with all of these thoughts in mind, I still can’t manage to kill myself. I had the opportunity today; I was left home alone, so I decided I would fall from the second-floor balcony of my parents’ room and try to land on my head. I was standing on the railing and telling myself that death is all that I deserve, but I couldn’t get myself to fall back. I was too afraid of what might happen if I survived. Why can’t I just die already? My only reason for living is my fear of failing a suicide attempt. I’m pathetic.