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Glancing through my title-less “drafts”, I see so many times I started to express feelings that I never expelled. Once I had everything jotted down, I felt a sense of relief. Today, I will break that pattern.

Today, specifically, is one of those days that I can’t get out of bed. I tried to go back to sleep several times, but to no avail. It is likely that I’ll stay here all day.
So to understand somewhat of what I’m about to explain, I’ll have to go back to the past a bit.

As a child I was always shy and quiet, but bubbly and full of life with those I felt comfortable with. I enjoyed reading, playing with dolls, riding my bike, being outside, and going places more than anything else. (By going places I mean just not being home really) I loved school, every teacher I ever had, and I was even on honor roll in elementary school. My family has always had financial issues and has never really been close. Even now I can’t even truly say that I know my parents, even though I have shared the same living space with them my entire life. I can’t tell you what they wanted to be when they grew up when they were kids, what their favorite music is, who inspires them in life. I know nothing about them really. At least nothing positive. I do know that they never wanted a daughter. I know that they hate if someone ever says that I look like them. I know that they’re embarrassed about my existence. I know that they both truly hate me. These are just a few examples of things I’ve heard all of my life. Given this information it’s not hard to piece together that I’ve had a unique childhood. Although it was destructive, I didn’t have to deal with it so often because I had friends. My friends were my family. I stayed the night at friends houses more than my own. When I was 10 we moved to a different city. Everything went downhill from there.
I still got to visit with a lot of my friends but it was a big change. I was at home a whole lot more than I was ever used to. My parents were always interacting with me more but in negative ways. Calling me names, threatening me, and it was physical on rare occasions. I was quite strong willed and even sassy, and I always had something to say back in an attempt to defend myself. They both are unreasonable so looking back it never was wise to do so but I was always honest with my “comebacks”, for example if they called me worthless I would respond in a sassy way like, “At least I’m doing something good with my life, and will be a better person than you”. They never liked hearing anything like this of course, and I admit that it was my fault that the “attacks” on me got worse because I always had something to say back. Everyday became more depressing and I never told my friends what went on at home. I tried to pretend like it never happened, even to my parents, just so that I could sometimes get car rides from them or something. By middle school I started to become more and more distant. I missed a lot of school all the time, and my grades dropped dramatically. It became increasingly difficult to focus on school and after finishing 7th grade I decided to do “online schooling”. I cut myself off from all of my friends because I felt like they were better off without me and that they wouldn’t understand my situation. I lost joy in activities I used to enjoy. I didn’t ride my bike anymore, I didn’t play games, I didn’t hangout or even talk to my friends, I didn’t even have friends anymore. I stopped wanting to go anywhere or do anything. I lost all motivation and ambition. I became all of the things my parents had always said to me. A loser, a failure, worthless. It came to the point that I never even left the house. Ever. I didn’t want to show my face. At age 13, by December of 2011 I felt like an entirely different person. I actually remember feeling like I was no longer alive. (Still do) On Christmas day I felt like committing suicide for the 1st time. Right then and there. I remember frantically pacing around my bedroom, destroying my laptop, wishing that I was destroying my life instead. I thought of all the ways that I could commit suicide. I wanted a gun. I wanted a shotgun so badly. I remember eventually sitting on my bed (a futon mattress at the time) and repeatedly envisioning myself shooting myself square in the forehead. Nothing in my entire life ever sounded so good. From then on all I ever thought about was committing suicide every single waking moment. After many torturous months of trying to figure out how to get my hands on a gun, I came to terms with the fact that it would be nearly impossible to go with that method. I went through many other methods in my head. The second one being rat poison. I never desired to get help. I was so consumed that when the school year was ending it was no big surprise when I received a letter in the mail informing me that I had failed the 8th grade. My parents laughed at me. It was then that I realized nothing that they do or say affected me anymore in a way that made me feel bad about myself because I already despised myself. The long, thick, beautiful, head of hair that I had disappeared soon after that letter. To me that letter meant I’d never get my life on track even if I desired to do so. When the school year came back around I decided I had nothing more to lose, because I was already at my lowest. So, I went to a nearby new school. I completed 8th and 9th grade. Everyday I told myself I’d never go back to school the next day and I dreaded school. I never opened up to anyone and I barely even spoke. When 10th grade year came along I never went. That was last year. I never went back this year either. I just know even if I would graduate and get a great job I’d never be happy in life. I started to slow down on the whole committing suicide immediately thing because I want to do it the right way. For a while I wondered what it’d be like if I went back to school for a GED and attempted to live. But, this month I’ve started to get panic attacks. I’ve never been diagnosed with any kind of health issue or mental illness, however I never go to a doctor and I’d never talk about suicide out loud. But anyways, my first panic attack happened whilst eating crackers called, “whales”. The crackers went down the wrong pipe and I started to choke on my food and my mind started to fill with “Holy shit I can’t die THIS way. I have old notes in my closet, and I need to throw those stupid ones away first!” I then battled between allowing myself to choke or getting help so I could throw the notes away. After about 15 seconds of allowing myself to choke whilst weighing out my options I ran to my mother’s bedroom. She didn’t help at all whatsoever. She screamed at me to get out of her room, and insisted that I was not choking. I ran back to my bedroom and felt as if I was having a heart attack. My breathing became uncontrollably extremely rapid and loud. My entire body was shaking. After about 13 minutes my breathing went back to normal but I was still shaking and felt tingling sensations for hours. Then just last night I had to be in a car with my mother. She had been treating me very poorly and was screaming at me. I asked her to not yell, but she continued doing so. Then I watched a dog get brutally hit by a car. I never raise my voice but I screamed “OH, GOD” and my mother went ape shit on me (pardon my language) and right then I had another terrible panic attack. At first the loud, rapid, inhale type breathing started and she looked at me in a mocking tone and LAUGHED at me in an evil way. She was literally laughing at my suffering. I’ll never forget it. She then started yelling at me and I can’t even actually translate all of what she said because I then started focusing in on the scene of the dog as my entire body was trembling and twitching uncontrollably. My heart felt like it was exploding and I could feel ALL my my muscles in my entire body having spasms. At one point I glanced over in her direction and could make out that she said “stupid *****” and the look on her face said it all. She was smiling like she enjoyed that I was in a vulnerable position. After about 20 minutes the breathing went back to normal but the twitching, tingling, and my heart rate kept increasing. That didn’t stop for over five hours. I can’t take it. I really can’t take the evilness of laughing at something I can’t control. She’s had health issues in the past and I’ve never felt that was something to laugh at. I actually felt bad for her honestly, and I even helped her despite how poorly she treated me. I don’t want anyone’s pity but I don’t think I deserve to be laughed at for that. She thinks that I did it on purpose. She thinks I controlled it. I know she thinks this way because whenever I’ve ever been sick she’s always said I’m overdramatic. In July of this year, a few days before my 17th birthday, I tore cartilage in my knee. I couldn’t walk on my right leg at all. When I fell and tore the cartilage and called out for help since I couldn’t get up she screamed at me to stop yelling and that I was making the dogs bark and refused to help me. I had to lay there for over 40 minutes until my brother checked on me and convinced her to bring me to a doctor. She looked at my leg and knee and said I looked fine and said I never even fell. I kept my mouth closed. When the doctor told her that I had torn cartilage and that it was completely swollen she gave me a dirty look. She’s always said I faked every injury I’ve ever had for “attention”. Which I’ve only ever received negative attention from either of my parents so what would even be the point if that were true? Anyways, it’s been like that all of my life. And one of the worst parts is that nobody knows how bad of a mother she is. By all appearances she seems like a great mother which is so scary. Also she talks badly about how difficult of a child I am to others and often right in front of me, and I don’t even say anything because there’s no use. I actually do want medication for anxiety to prevent panic attacks because that is mentally AND physically draining but I doubt my mother will allow me to do so. I feel like just asking her to take me to a doctor will spark a panic attack because she’s not going to make this easy. I don’t know if it’s even worth it. I can’t deal with panic attacks everyday if I ever want my life to get better. I don’t know what to do right now. If I choose to live i obviously don’t want to have suicidal thoughts forever, but i also refuse to talk about suicide to anybody. That’s something that will die with me. Death is so much easier than living is. That’s for sure.