Red Handed

Hello there. You may remember me as the fairly young boy planning to commit suicide as soon as I reach the weekend. That was exactly one week ago. You may remember that the only person in the outside worldthat know of my suicidal thoughts and cutting is also the sole person I love. This was my undoing. Two days before I would hang myself, she stepped in an contacted the school guidance counselor. Naturally, this is a rather large issue, and long story short, my father, a police officer, picked me up from school and was require to Baker Act me. I was taken to a mental evaluation centre, after my whole family learned about my depression I had evidently hid so well from them. Everyone cried, including my dad. I had told them everything, and I would soon have to try and explain to psychologists. I was treated like bacteria under a microscope, or perhaps just another troubled child going though a phase. Yes, that is what I am, but phases fucking hurt. Anyhow, they did not keep me there, on a account that I had never displayed suicidal tendencies beforehand, although I have been suicidal several times. Of course, I wouldn’t tell them that if it means that I have to say tere for a few days. When I got home, my mother immediately started insulting and guilting me about my predicament. She took away all possible means of contacting the outside world, which evidently wasn’t enough, since I am writing this post. I think that the whole situation woke me up. It would have an impact on the people surrounding me if I had the chance to kill myself. I was in a state of limbo for the next few days, not quite happy, not quite sad, but not suicidal. Then I saw the girl again. I know it’s pathetic, but it hurts just as much as before, knowing that she loves someone else now. She reported me because that’s what any human being with half a brain would do, not because I matter to her. I don’t. I’ll stop rambling now, I suppose. As I was saying, I have slowly spiraled back downwards into depression. I feel as if somehow it is my fault that she evidently doesn’t love me anymore.
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I am actually rather proud of the fact that I am able to type this, as I have pilfered a first generation iPod Touch from the household. Nobody knows about it, curiously. It’s barely working, and it cannot text or download applications, but I have music and the Internet. Please excuse any typos, as the keyboard on this ancient device is really quite shabby.