Scared to Live, Not to Die

Ever since I was a little girl, living was an issue. I’ve wanted to die since I was 8 yrs old. My mother was/is evil and doesn’t have feelings like most people do. Common traits of a Sociopath; she would have a lot of sex with a lot of people just so she could feel something… Or at least I tell myself that’s the reason why. She married my dad while she was still married and had 2 sons with someone else. My dad didn’t know, but her first husband soon found out and divorced her. My dad in turn raised my two older brothers ever since they were toddlers. They still consider him more their dad than their birth dad. My mom was abusive to them as well as my dad and I. Unfortunately my dad never divorced her until September of 2013. That also just so happened to be the last time I saw my older brother Jordan alive. He was 20…
They said it was murder but then the military said it was a suicide. But what they told us just didn’t add up. They said there was a note but we weren’t allowed to see it. And they kept being extremely vague about what he actually did to commit suicide. He was gay and in the army… Doesn’t surprise me that the military would try to cover it up if it was one of their people who killed him. I miss him a lot. We were the middle children. And best friends. My eldest brother was always so mean to me. We never got along. Him and my youngest brother always were so close while Jordan and I were attached at the hip. I wouldn’t want to be close with someone who violated my innocence when I 5 yrs old anyways. Jordan always protected me. When he could anyways. Like when my mom would keep me in my room with no food, he would sneak food to me, like peanut butter crackers. When my 2 older brothers got older though, they would always be in California with their real dad. I wish I would’ve been that far away from Mom.
She would come and go though.. Like the seasons. She would come back to us in the autumn/winter when it got cold and convince my dad she’s changed, then she would leave when it got warm. During her stay with us, she always reaped havoc on the family. She would “lend me out” to her “friends” if she wanted some money or something. She would let them do whatever they wanted to me. Started when I was 4yrs old. She would do stuff to me, telling me it was okay… That was probably the nicest thing she’s ever done for me. Because she did it so that I wouldn’t be shocked when other people did it to me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself anyways…
I remember looking out my car window at 8yrs old, thinking about how I wanted to die & how dying doesn’t scare me.. Then I told myself, “What about all those new movies and songs you’re gonna miss out on?” Haha
I moved 2000 miles away from my mom and dad and most of my family in 2014. I live with my aunt and uncle now.. I attempted suicide and it freaked my dad out making him send me away and telling me to never call him dad again. He drank a lot and so I don’t blame his actions. I blame the alcohol.
February 27, 2015 I overdosed on Acetaminophen (Tylenol) and almost died. My kidneys and liver shut down and I was in so much pain.
( If you’re reading this, please PLEASE do not overdose. I know you want to rid yourself of pain, but overdosing just puts you into more excruciating physical pain. )
I remember my therapist at school didn’t even try to stop me when I told her my plan to OD. She just simply said “I’d miss you if you died.” Then she sent me home when school was out. I didn’t go to a single class that day and as I was walking home, all I could think about is how much of a burden i must be on people. When I got home my mom called and was complaining about her life idk I wasn’t paying attention, until she said, “Why did Jordan have to die? He was a blessing to this Earth. You should be under the ground, not him!” That caught my attention. I OD’d immediately after that.
Sometimes I’m happy that my attempts failed, but that’s rare. I mostly feel like I’m being held against my will. No one can control my body and yet for some reason, they think they can just keep me alive because they said so? Sometimes I understand why being alive is so important… But other times I’m so apathetic that I honestly could care less who cares about whether or not I’m breathing. Last year in October I was raped 5 times by the same guy and today some guy thought it was okay to just poke my boob. I already self harmed pretty bad today, and last night I had really bad full body muscle spasms, but I am honestly feeling so suicidal.
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I’m not afraid to die.
I’m afraid to keep on living.