Hello?

Hi. This is my first time ever posting to this site or anything like this site. I found this site doing research for my suicide, but I’ve come back multiple times just to read the posts because it seems that there are people here I can identify with.

So I suppose that I should tell my suicide story? I will try, but it’s not much of a story. It’s nothing compared to some of the things I read here, or see and hear at school. I know I have no right to feel the way I do, but that knowledge doesn’t change what I feel, it just makes me feel guiltier about those feelings. Anyways, I will start with the basics: I am a 16 year-old girl.

The earliest memories I have are of being alone. I remember being lost in the snow when I was three, but I wasn’t scared or upset. I was sure of myself as I trudged toward home. I remember being annoyed because no one wanted to build sandcastles with me at the beach, but not much more. The first really distinct memory I have is of seeing my baby sister for the first time. We were at the hospital, and my mother was lying in the bed holding what looked like a bundle. I was a few feet away, holding my father’s hand. I couldn’t see the baby, but I could see the jubilance on my parents’ faces, and, instead of sharing that joy, I felt, for what I think was the first time, completely and utterly alone. I hated that bundle from the start. I was two-and-a-half.

Despite that, I grew to love my sister. I doted on her and wanted to teach her everything I learned about the world. As I grew up, my self-hatred grew as well. I was never really popular, and I skated on the borders of loser-dom. I became an avid reader, sometimes devouring a book a day. I believed everything my parents said was wrong with me was true – I didn’t know any other truth than theirs. I should mention that I’ve always been fat, but, as I grew up, I became more and more overweight with each passing year. I was never athletic and am not very well-coordinated, but I went out for sports every season because my father always wanted me to and I hated letting him down. I was always the worst and the fattest on the team and the other girls never included me. Eventually, I stopped every sport but soccer; I was the least bad at it and it was my father’s favorite. I won’t deny that I loved soccer as well – I still love it. Sixth grade was the last year I played soccer. I had always dreamed of dying young. For some reason, I never thought I’d make it very long, but I never really thought about suicide.

During seventh grade, my serious depression started. Seventh grade was the year I started middle school. It was a new school and there were many new people there that I didn’t know. Surprisingly, I thrived socially. I put together a group of friends and was popular within my own little group. It’s hard to explain what happened with my family that year, but I will try. My little sister was long and lean and a soccer prodigy. My father couldn’t be more proud. In comparison, I was a fat, moody, quirky girl. Something to be ashamed of. So he started with mean comments, then he’d stare at me and give me the Disappointed Sigh whenever he saw me eating. I became scared to enter the kitchen, where he often worked at the table on his laptop. I didn’t understand why I was being treated this way, why I no longer deserved his love. My mother didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing. But my sister, still young, her mind developing learned that I was trash, worthless. She was just as mean as my father and she often hit me. When I tried to tell my parents or retaliated, they told me to toughen up and deal with it, then they punished me. She was my younger sister after all, she shouldn’t be able to hurt me. So I grew and learned to deal with it. I stopped talking to my family except for discussing essential things. I shut them out, became numb to them. I threw myself into my friends and school and especially my books. That same year, I fell in love. I was young and stupid and I had all those stories bouncing around in my head. My middle school wasn’t very good and my parents were worried about my education, so I interviewed at a bunch of private schools and eventually ended up going to one, despite our money troubles.

I loved the education there, but I struggled to fit in with the rich people. The next year was my first year of high school, and it remained much the same. However, this year I’ve become very close with one girl and have found a group of people I can pretend to fit in with.

But my life is sad. I hate it. I hate myself. I don’t care about my family and I struggle to feel any emotion. I started cutting and writing poetry to cope, but the effects are fleeting. I look into my future and I have no wish to continue this life. A few months ago, I decided that killing myself was the best option and my mind hasn’t changed. I have it all planned out and am simply waiting on some logistics. I don’t know why I’m here; this is a place for people who want help. I suppose I just want someone to listen. Sorry this post is sooooo long.