I want to return to the dust

My story of depression starts when I was 12. I self harmed for the first time. I didn’t have any friends and I was considered a loser. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t that depressed then. I was depressed, but not terribly bad. No, things started going horribly wrong my freshman year of high school. I couldn’t pay attention in class because I would start imagining my death. Blades were my crutch. I managed to make a few friends, but people still knew me as a loser. I was sad all the time, that’s all I really remember. I was never happy. Happy was as foreign as other countries I had never been to. I worked up the courage to tell my mom. I went to the doctor and was put on Zoloft for depression, anxiety, and OCD. It took a little while, but I became happier. Until my dad lost his job. We’ve always struggled for money, so this was icing on the cake. My dad got really depressed. He talked about leaving a lot. I didn’t really get depressed again. I was sad, but not depressed. I was also angry at everyone and everything. I’ve been raised in a Christian family, but when my dad lost his job, I started questioning God. I wanted to know what we did to deserve this. If he was supposed to be looking out for me, he wasn’t doing the best job. I was so angry at him. I stopped going to church. My family didn’t understand why. Two years after my dad lost his job, he found another. I thought that meant everything was supposed to be okay again, but it didn’t. We were behind on our bills. If anything, we were worse off than before. Still, I managed to hold myself together. I went 7 months clean of self harm. Then, school started back. I only had one friend in one class. My anxiety skyrocketed. Then, my mom got really depressed. She would stay in bed for hours, barely getting up. She cried over everything, and she rarely spoke. She was almost hospitalized. Between the stress of school and conditions at home, I’ve snapped again. I’ve overdosed three times, none of which my family knows about. I cut my thighs on a weekly basis, if not more. My mom has improved some, but I’ve only gone downhill. It makes me happy to cut myself; I smile while doing it. I just need to feel something other than all the pain on the outside I guess. My grades have went down, and I have no motivation to do anything. My homework doesn’t get done,my classwork doesn’t get finished, and I fail most of the tests I take. I think about killing myself a lot. I don’t want to die, though. I just want out of the life I’m living. If I’m off somewhere with a friend or away from my house and family, I’m okay. I cry a lot at my house. It’s depressing here. I’m afraid to say or do anything. I hate this house with everything in me and I wouldn’t hesitate to leave it if given the chance. I absolutely hate this place. There aren’t words to express it. I would be so much happier away from here.   I’ve once again stopped going to church. My family is practically broke. My mom lost her job due to her depression and we have less than $100 in the bank. I’ve lost myself again.  I just want to lay on the ground and stay there until I die, returning to the dust. I often imagine slitting my wrist open and just watching the blood pour out of it until I bleed to death. If it’s the only way to get out of this life I’m forced to live, so be it. I don’t see a reason not to end it all.