Hi. I don’t even know why I’m posting this, really, to be honest. All I know is I’m suicidal, have been for five years, and I need to, I guess, let it out. No one has ever really let me vent, and I am kind of wary of online stuff like this. I tried whisper, but that app sucked, so here I am. Maybe I should tell you about myself, whoever reads this, I think? No one may read it, I don’t know. But I care. I know that much.
So, let out the friggin sob story.
God, this sounds like a stupid book or something. 🙁 Sorry.
When I was young, my parents started fighting all the time, and they still do. I never had much of a father, since he worked nights, slept all day, and whenever we’d talk, because we barely knew each other, we’d always fight. I was ten when they pulled me from regular school to some over-working, stressful online school, where I never learned proper social skills, and ended up with really bad panic attacks and a whole lot of embarrassment and shame when I attended Senior Year once in public school. Then my parents hated me because I chose to drop out because of my health issues. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, they have no idea what type I guess, and Plantar Fachiitis. Yeah, I know I spelled it wrong. I don’t care. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but when my condition became an irreversible walking problem and my feet were so flat I had legit no arch muscles left, I dropped out because of the pain. No one believed me or would talk over me when I tried to share my feelings, when I inexplicably wanted to blow my money one day and then cry my eyes in the middle of the night; no one cared. And because I was a late bloomer and didn’t know how to even use Google when I was 15, I had no idea what was wrong with me. All I knew was that, if everyone was living happily all around me, I had to be the problem. I was the wrong one. I was wrong.
At sixteen I befriended a girl we’ll call Vera, and at seventeen, she stabbed me in the back by sharing that I had Bipolar Disorder, my darkest secret, to the whole school. I nearly killed myself at that point, and we’ve never talked since. We adopted a second dog, mainly to help me out, at that time, but poor Buddy died three days later. Turns out he had cancer. And it took my heart with him when I woke up and found him peacefully gone in his bed. I went emo after this, and for the past six months, when I turned eighteen, I decided I wanted out. I want out of this house, this hell I live in, my parents guilt-ridden religion that they force on me, everything.
So I got a job. Bad idea. The only thing I could get was a floor guy in toys at Walmart. Within two weeks I’d had a full-blown mental breakdown, triggered a depressive phase, and made a fool of myself because no one understood. Story of my life.
I had six friends; which we can say by the letter in their first names: Z, J, P, G, L, A. I felt comfortable with these people back in July, (how time flies), and we were good friends, I guess. Then, I switched from my fun-loving phase, my manic, to my depressive after a very stressful night, the worst I’d ever had, and they didn’t like the other half of me. A never talked to me, primarily because she quit, G is still kind of my friend, but not the kind of guy I’d like to hang out with, Z can barely speak English so she doesn’t understand what I mean by ‘Disorder’, L thinks I’m nuts because I had a panic attack at work, J doesn’t care to talk to me, and P is the only girl who cares. She does, but she doesn’t get what is happening. Also, they can’t understand that I’m asexual, and what that even means. I feel lonely, but more of alone, if that makes any sense.
When I got my first check, I went against my parents and adopted two dogs. I love these two, but my sister, who hates me anyways, and my parents, want them gone. I love them. They don’t. They don’t want me hanging out with the people at work, or doing anything. I’m so done with this, in general.
Why am I like this?
Here’s the worst, from August till now. I got on meds again for Bipolar. They suck. I feel the same, and I pay fifty bucks a month for them. Everyone stares when I take them each meal, and it kills me inside. I bought a mini fridge, but have nothing in it, because it’s so hard to even eat anymore. Some days my depression makes me so weak I can’t open a jar of pickles. And I feel weak because of it. This sucks. My life has no meaning, just eat, work, sleep, that’s it. I literally have nothing to live for anymore. I have two dogs, my only possessions, and that’s it. I’m not saying I’ll kill myself or try again, but I have no idea if this will ever change. That seems like the only route to peace, or a relief from the pain. I don’t want to die, I want to end the pain.
I do have things I like, but that’s when I have the time or energy to do them. I like knitting, crocheting, basically anything with yarn, I write on Wattpad, but no one reads it, and I love Halsey. She’s been an inspiration, but I have no idea what to do anymore.
I’m sorry if my life seems superficial, and this is long, but I just can’t live like this anymore. Day in and out, it’s tiring, sadness every day. It’s so bad, and I feel so hopeless, I have dark circles, and they’re huge. I’m lost. And I don’t know where I went. 🙁