An Introduction

So my story. I guess I’ll be blunt about it.

My father committed suicide. I was a baby, the age of two. I have no memory of him. It haunts me daily.

It was the day after his birthday, a day that no one would expect anything to be wrong, and although I’m not completely clear on the story (no one will talk to me about it no matter how much I beg, i actually didn’t know he killed himself until sixth grade.) but from what I’ve gathered, he had had enough, he climbed to the top of our barn, tied a noose around his neck and jumped. It was already hard enough growing up without a father because he supposedly died in a motorcycle accident, but then finding out he chose to take his life, that’s a whole new burden. Since 6th grade I’ve been lost. My world was completely altered, my life had been full of lies and unanswered questions. I blame myself for my fathers death, if I wasn’t born, maybe he wouldn’t have done what he did. Maybe he’d still be alive, keeping my mother and two sister happy.  Do I want to kill myself? Everyday, I’ve convinced myself I’d be better off with dad wherever the hell he is, i’m not sure what I believe happens after death, but this isn’t about religion. I’m angry. At Dad. At Mom. And most importantly, myself.

A lot of problems have risen since 6th grade, I was bullied in 7th grade and turned to alcohol and cigarettes, no one knows that about me. Luckily, I quit after that year. 8th grade, I was alone, no friends to turn to so I changed who I was. 9th grade is when my suicidal thoughts surfaced intensely (I had been since 6th grade but i buried the thoughts) I used music to keep me alive… Last year I started to do things that can’t seem to be undone. I’m anorexic and I cut myself. Not all the time. But everyday I think about sliding that blade across my leg, and everyday I hate myself for every calorie I take. I’m a little fucked up but no one would know. I have two friends that I’ve told everything, but not even they know it all. They don’t know I still cut. They don’t know I don’t eat. They don’t know I want to be dead. So I figured i’d let you know.

It’s my senior year and high school, everything involves “parents” and everyone has their dad around. I’ve never known what it’s like to have a father, fathers day is meaningless for me. My dads birthday is spent crying at his grave. I can’t explain the feelings this causes, but more importantly, I hate that it causes any feelings at all. I hate emotion, and i’m full of it. So many people have it so much worse, and here I am complaining about my life.

So that’s my story. Or at least some of it.