So, i finally cracked.
I told them i hurt.
I told them i loved them.
They saw my arms.
They cried.
I cried.
They told me they would get help, and told me to get some exercise before bed, wich i despise to the very core.
I went to a psichologist and i was pretty honest with him, we went on a LONG shopping spree and came back home.
They told me that i can’t cut again, that it’s forbidden, that there are other ways. they told me that they love me and they care.
Come on now, they didn’t notice a teen with a bloodstained, long sleeved shirt on summer for years and now they tell me they cared, please.
Not that they should actually care anyway, i mean, i told them i got rid of my blade months ago when i really couln’t. i tell them i don’t have the urges when i dream with my arms bleeding endlessly. all that to see their smile, to watch them pretend to be happy, waiting for them to check my wrists and rub my weakness in my face.
I should have been stronger, i couldn’t keep my cool, feel like a failure, i ruined their happy bubble forever, knowing how fragile it can be.
I keep spitting lies. i don’t understand why they still try to save me. maybe they still believe me. sometimes i wish someone would call me out on my BS instead of pretending everything is fine. i’m a liar and i deserve hate, like all liars.
So i’m back where i started, but now i’ll have to cut my hairy thighs. ew.
I just want to die, but i don’t want to hurt them.
Then again, if they don’t really care, why should i care about them.
I want to feem my bed soaked.in my blood, let my nihilisim take control and cut again and again and again.
When can i die?
Goddammit.
2 comments
its such a bittersweet feeling telling someone about how badly your hurting. on one hand, sometimes it feels better, but on the other hand sometimes people get “worried” and send you to the hospital or to some psychiatrist to “fix” your problems. god,i wish it was that easy. but i believe in you. try and cut less than you usually do, its kind of like a compromise with yourself. you cut, but less and less until maybe, possibly you have the strength to stop all together. life sucks, i know, i hate my life and myself, but things are slowly starting to look better for me, and if they can look better for me, thats an indication that they will get better for you too. i know it doesnt feel like it, ive been there. but find something small to hold on to. something that makes everything hurt just a little less. something that you can bring yourself to look forward to every day. just trust me, from one suicidal person to another, okay? take care.
Thank you very much, i really aprecciate someone ACTUALLY listening. Though i doubt i’m really worth it :/.