I Have No Idea

I honestly have no idea how I am, who I am or what I’m doing. It’s difficult to have your whole family think you’re an attention seeker because you cut yourself and because you’re depressed and were suicidal. It hurts so much to let people you care about so much down. I hate myself more then anything ever. It’s so hard. When I say it’s so hard I hate myself more for being so weak and pathetic. I’m 16. I have grown up bullied, hit and at one point I was sexually assaulted which I very rarely talk about. I have a boyfriend now, his name is Ben. I love him to bits. Because most of the time he’s the only one who actually seems to try and understand, who actually seemed to care when no one else did. It hurts him when I cut, but I want to cut so badly… The urge is so powerful because what it does is provides a focal point for my attention and alot of the time I’d love to make my mind shut up so badly that I would do anything. I have this voice in my head. Damien. He’s always trying to make me feel like shit, to make me cut. I sink ever deeper into depression, I’m lost, confused, angry, hurt and scared. It’s so hard to continue. Yet when I have that thought I want to punch myself in the face. Sometimes I do. Because I am so angry but only ever at myself. So much anger towards myself. I really wish alot of the time that there was a way out. I once wrote a suicide note on bus cards and hung them on a chain, planning to put the chain around my neck and jump infront of a train. Someone stopped me. I didn’t get another chance. I’ve thought so much about ways to die. It’s hard not to think of them. Even now on the road to recovery I sometimes sink back down and cut or plan my death. I’ve been like this for so long. Yet my family tells me that there’s nothing wrong. Well I needed to write this. I’m going insane. The pain is driving me to the brink. I want to sink into the darkness of death. But I cant. I just have no idea what to do. Not to mention the fact that I cant release my emotions by crying. That’s stemmed from early childhood… I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t know. Or speak. Or do anything other then write my feelings. I can’t speak them out loud. So broken. So much conflict in my head. It hurts. So I need to hurt on the outside.