evianwatre

Nobody knows the shit I’ve done to myself nobody will see nobody will come nobody will know anything there’s something inside me pull me out of my skin I want to die I want to die I can’t hear anything I can’t remember anything I can’t I hate myself I hate myself I hate I hate I hate I hate I wanted to say something nobody cares nobody in the world will accept me I can’t go anywhere the world has abandoned me and I just have to make it on my own over and over again my head is fucked I’ve gone insane a long time ago end it for me end it for me I want to die I want to die I want to die I need to die I want to die I can’t I don’t deserve anything there’s nothing more of a.privilege to be normal there’s nothing more I want to be normal the luck the happiness what’s happiness I’m tired of faking it I’m tired of keeping everhjbg in my head I’m going crazy I’m going to die crying doesn’t release anything I need to strangle myself but the weather isn’t cold enough for me to wear high necks all the time I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die there’s nobody deserves nobody deserve their happiness why me god why I want to say help me but nobody can and I can’t save myself I can’t I can’t I can’t all I do is hide it in my head until I feel like this I want to die god god god god god I’m only so young why me how is it going to be like when I’m older help help but I don’t deserve help I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die the world is a blur but I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t don’t come don’t come I don’t want anyone to know but it hurts so much if does I can’t say anything I don’t want to see the doctor I don’t want to take medicine I don’t want to have the notmality I’ve faked all this time to be taken away Lock me up in a psychiatric hospital I cabt I can’t kill myself I don’t want them to cry I don’t want to be seen as the coward god I don’t deserve anything nobody deserves to be happy I hate it I hate how superior they are I hate how jealous I feel they’ll never know that I’m like this pray for me there’s something stuck in my throat my head is killing me I can’t I can’t does that make me less of a person if I don’t slit my wrist or attempt suicide for real I don’t want to ruin this I don’t want to do something wrong again why do they compare why do I compare my head is killing me god doesn’t exist nobody is coming and I’ll wake up in the morning not recognizing one word I’ve wrote until I break absolutely the fuck down like this again

down below is some stuff i wrote for myself to read, it’s my attempt of exploring my relationship with suicide and death. i wrote this in a different language and i simply ran it through google translate, this might be unreadable, but i thought i should post something here once in a while.

everything i’ve wrote is deeply, deeply personal, i’ve never shared an analysis of my mind this personal and in detail before, on anywhere. i might come back and archive this, and also, i feel deeply insecure about my real age, i feel so bad for being this age because i feel like nothing in my head truly means anything. please know that all i feel and say in this translated text is deeply real. i feel like i could be ten years younger, or twenty years older, but not in a age like this. it’s almost shameful. because of how many people my age that’s been exaggerating their negative thoughts, i feel like i might be lying to myself too.

i feel fine by the way, i’m probably not going to kill myself this year, i think. just deeply numb and i’ve been feeling far away from reality as i was writing this, sorry again if the text is hard to read. again, it’s translated from another language through google translate and i just went with my flow of consciousness.

i’m sorry.

(It may be a suicide note, if I die this is my suicide note, if I did not commit suicide then this is an ordinary record)

The (*please let me keep it a secret) year of life is about to come.

In the past () years, I have not tried to commit suicide, but I have never done it seriously, with a mortal heart, and even planned any steps until last year or in recent years.

In the beginning, to bring the memory back to the beginning, I must write it down. Remember things, or remember things that need to be remembered, I need to write them down.

Death has been hanging in the stream of my vague memory, like a tree branch floating on the water, like the dazzling white sunlight on a sparkling day, like the gray and black mist that cannot be shaken off in a cloudy sky.

There has never been any misunderstanding about death, at least I can’t remember what the day of death was like. The first memory is that I was lying on a cloth sofa in one of my homes, seas and sky, with a foggy ceiling and a fuzzy eggshell-colored time and space, and I was crying in that small space. Because the second aunt will die, because my mother will die, because everyone will die, so will I. At that time, I felt that the death of my grandparents was something more distant, like a tree. The older I got, the more vigorous and sturdy, the more I was loved by everyone. I realized that I probably wouldn’t cry at their funeral. Words. I don’t know, because they are not dead yet, and I even think I will die before them.

Everything will end, of course. When a person reaches a certain age, he will begin to lose one by one and the things around him, including life, health, and the sense of being alive. Still in Haitianyuan, the earliest memory of dreaming. The gray-blue bedroom, first my parents’ bedroom, then my parents’ bedroom, and then my sister’s, was finally abandoned in the dust.

Dreams are slices of frosted thin glass, stacked squares or rectangles, after being illuminated by sunlight for a long time, it turns like rice paper wrapped in candied haws. The shape is no longer clear, the content is no longer clear, and the pieces blend into one piece. I digressed, now I will talk about my dream.

The first dream was in the middle of the night, in the faint blue bedroom, but with yellow light, it was impossible to describe the color. These were useless to the reader.

My dream is in that bedroom, and I float. There is another dream that has been integrated into the honey paper: I received a machine that said that I would die in a day or a few hours. What a real dream! I was so scared, I woke up with the chests of mom and dad beside me, “you won’t die, it’s just a dream.”

The fear of death entangled me in kindergarten for two or three days. I think so, then I didn’t dare or deliberately didn’t think about it.

Ahhhhh, keep on remembering.

Then, a harder sum, an exam, the third or fourth year end of the year, got c. I remember I put my head on the bed, I cried and cried, I don’t know if it was for grades or my parents or crying on my own, my life seemed to end there.

Simply, the thought of wanting to die.

From kindergarten to the fourth grade of elementary school, there are only poetic scene fragments that I have torn apart, in which there have been countless quarrels, countless crying and roaring countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless countless, all of which I should remember, but I forgot.

Negative thoughts are not uncommon after the fifth grade, although I probably have not been a “good girl” since the second grade. Later, I jokingly confessed to my mother: “I used to be acting.” Mom didn’t believe it, then I didn’t believe it either. Maybe I was really a pure, clean, clever and well-behaved child. I should remember, but I forgot.

I experienced a crush that I brainwashed myself in elementary school. I fell in love with a guy with the same surname as me and sitting next to me. I remember looking at two “boys you can like” when I was in the first grade. I chose one and kept repeating “You like him” to myself. But who knows? I also have a good impression of the guy I didn’t choose. Maybe I like both of them, but it doesn’t matter. Why am I writing about my crush in elementary school? I do not know. In the past few years, the spiritual gray has gradually spread to the memories of the past, and those memories that should have been colored in childhood have also become thinner, except for the swings, summer nights, eternal sea and sand that I have stuck in the gully of my brain. , The only beautiful memory in my life.

It doesn’t matter, but after I was in middle school, I instilled a similar crush on myself. It was still the process of falling in love with someone. After the fiasco, I would never like people normally. Later, I was touched all over my thigh by a male friend at a party. I didn’t stop him, because my God! No one has ever touched my body like that, like touching an unfamiliar animal. For a while, I actually regarded the dopamine rooted in the body and the happiness of being “demanded” as love. It is not an exaggeration to say that it is very comfortable when touched by that person. He didn’t do anything special, just touched his leg and shook his wrist. My wrist is very thin, so it can be completely held by one hand.

Because since I was little, I have always been a child who is hungry for attention. I was in the third or fourth grade one afternoon, when a senior boy touched my crotch and blocked it in a corner without a camera. He tried to kiss me. All I knew was to block him with the book in his hand.

I still remember the dialogue: “What are you doing”, “Touching”, blocking the corner, he said to me “Touching you”, I blocked his mouth with a book, and he asked “Otherwise you touch me?” My own pants, I shook him off and went to class.

No one knows, I searched on the Internet, this is obscenity, but why didn’t I leave a trauma? Instead, those quarrels and rainy days pierced my brain severely. I’ve been eager for attention, is that right? Is it because I am a lascivious person that I feel comfortable? Why do I like the feeling of being longed so much?

The attention is also true. I performed desperately when I was in kindergarten, desperately striving for the first place, and being a good daughter and student, but in the end I was too tired.

Because later I learned that no one in the world deserves anything beautiful, and no one deserves what they have now, including life.

I have always been a person using my own mind and virtual works to fill my desire for sex, for beautiful, normal days, until I suddenly couldn’t capture images in my mind for no reason and became blind. people. I am analyzing myself, but this does not mean that I understand or I understand who I am. I’m recording the story of this identity, but not me, not my current story.

Later, after countless negative memories, I think I was not too normal at that time. I was relieved when my mother found the invoice of the woman’s skirt in the father’s suitcase. It wasn’t that I made a mistake this time. I suddenly emptied and couldn’t feel anything. I went up the stairs and yelled, “This time it’s not because of my quarrel. “, then went back to the room. When I was in the fifth grade, I had a quarrel with my mother. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep writing, I thought I might break down.

In the fifth grade, after I quarreled with my mother, we would stand in a cold war. In the second half of the fifth year, from the sixth to the eighth grade, I was emptied for an instant after the quarrel. All the sadness and anger disappeared, and I could not remember exactly what the quarrel was for, but I would be shy and shamelessly take a tissue to soothe cry. My mother, it seems that I have never been sad before crying, even singing loudly. You know, I didn’t think about myself carefully two years ago.

Obviously those who are somber are worse than the people around me who sell badly, but I don’t know if they are younger, because I forgot. This is a very healthy and environmentally friendly way of dealing with emotions. I don’t know why it happens, but it is natural and it should be healthy.

Now I will still forget what happened after the collapse, but the pain and maddening emotions will not leave me, but will erode me until I have no strength to resist, or lurking under an emotional fold. I think that when I hurt myself and strangled my neck, I would still feel the relief and lightness of elementary school, and even get a kind of ritual satisfaction. Even more, I will look at myself from the perspective of the second person in the room, and I will feel that this morbid state is so beautiful that it completes me, even if it is wrong and sad.

I digressed a lot. I wrote about my memories on the suicideproject website. At that time, I ran out of the house when my parents quarreled and sat on the highest part of the playground. My mind was probably dumb. I was chasing a crow to kill it, thinking that someone would come to me, I will jump off there.

When I typed these words, I didn’t feel it at all. There were no words in my head. As always, my fingertips were thinking for me. I still have to clarify that these “when I want to die” are not everything that I wrote down. I can’t write them all, countless times, countless countless times, I can only write the deepest, or remember the clearest times. .

Then in (my home country), it was probably the summer of 2018. After a quarrel with my whole family, I was to be crazy. I was standing on the balcony on the fourth floor, holding the handrails. No, you can’t die, you can’t die in (), otherwise your family will lose face, everyone will know, and I will hold a funeral here. But now think about it, whether it is jumping from the rope ladder or the balcony on the fourth floor, it is hard to die.

Then it was still in (). Anyway, every time I went back to (), the whole family would quarrel fiercely, and every time I would probably get into a depression. But I still like (), because it is beautiful, because () is (), and it is the place where I should have existed if not for all this.

I remember when I was in the ninth grade, there was a time when I went home and cried until I put down my schoolbag, cried until I fell asleep, went downstairs to finish eating, went upstairs to continue crying, and then fell asleep until dawn. that was the beginning to the mental illness i have now. Maybe there is no such thing, maybe it didn’t happen, I really can’t remember.

Then, in 2019, ah, 2019, 2019, if I want to remember, I probably remember it clearly, but I don’t want to remember it, just say it a few times.

Once I used a wire on the curtain rack and stuck my neck in it jokingly. It was obviously not dead, because I was joking with myself, maybe I didn’t want to die at all.

Then it was the second time, using wires in the bathroom. At that time, the relationship between my mother and me was so bad and so bad. In the dark, I wanted to just run away like that. It was really the phone, not my fault, but mother I yelled so much that I couldn’t breathe. At that time, I was very tired and tired outside of home. I was so anxious that I felt numb and I was about to die. I was immersed in my emotions in the winter. in. After I got home, I ran upstairs thinking about dying soon. The wires were hanging in the bathroom. I didn’t die. It was still like a joke to myself, because I didn’t bring myself to kill myself. The determination did not even hang up the line. (The whole family was there at that time, could it be this spring? I can’t remember)

What then? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

On New Year’s Eve 2019-2020, I think I can die, but I didn’t do anything except post “I want to die before 2020” on the Internet.

I don’t want to write anything else. The year before last year, I wanted to take over-the-counter painkillers. But I planned a perfect plan in the depths of a certain depression.

34 days left.

140 days became 34 days.

I wonder if I can kill myself.

I can’t grow up.

Can you stop time.

I don’t want to write anymore, that’s it, goodbye.

I can’t fucking do this, I can smell the humidity in the air, the scent of summer and the dirt and cicada and the leaves with holes that bugs chew out. The dirty manmade pond and water, the moss and mold, the dirty plaster walls and how I dug and drew on it witb the keys to the only place I knew home. The stickiness in the palms of children holding their money and coins thinking that one comic book and some crossfire skin was all they need in being alive. The oxidized metals and plastic and rusty bikes layed in layers of spiderwebs and dusts in the underground parking lot. The sticky screen of iPhone 5, the novels the books the smell of dust the smell of badly ventilated rooms and spaces and that was all, everything. I can’t ever go back, I never saw how precious it was, my only chance as a child I wasted it and I’m not ready. Please don’t take my time away I never grew up from those summers. The quiet shade under the leaves of plane trees and the scent of plants and real life. Without the heat I’m nothing, without the child’s body I’m not supposed to be alive.

i want to kill myself before my birthday.

today is the first time i looked back at my posts, i feel so sorry that i never replied to many comments people left for me, but you know…it’s too late to reply now. it’s funny, at first i couldn’t shut up about my mental state to the point where i had to disable my own social media account, now i’m able to stay completely silent, because i no longer feel a thing. the first time i posted about not having a inner monologue was probably the winter of 2019, i remember the first time i had symptoms of depersonalization, they are just symptoms because i never went to see a doctor or anything. sorry, i know how annoying this is, the whole self diagnosing thing…sorry. back to what i was saying, the winter of 2019 i complained about not having thoughts or having no inner monologue, and it’s happening to me again, and, sorry, i can’t really form clear sentences right now, sorry if this is hard to read.

it only happened to me for a night or so before, at least that night was the only time i could remember, but now it’s been happening for weeks, i think, i feel so far away from myself, my voice, my…own head. you might ask “how are you writing this with no thoughts” the thing is, i really dont have a better way to explain this, i know that the thought of not having any thoughts are also thoughts n their own but i feel like i’ve been blanking out for the past week…and i can’t remember. i hate how desperately im trying to prove that i’m ok, i just…i feel so weird, or i should feel weird, yet i can’t, i can’t, i can’t think, i can’t feel a thing, i don’t remember, my memories feel so far away, my fingers on the keyboard feels far away. my head is blank right now but i can force myself to have a inner monologue only when i’m writing something down, as if the pen is thinking for me, as if i’m thinking through the pen, the keyboard, the letters on the screen.

60 something days left. i have a plan, i had a plan for a while but i dont know…i don’t know, when’s a better time to do this? it’s probably better if i die in the numb stage, but what if i live and the method fucks my body up and i’ll have to live with a damaged brain for the rest of my life? i dont know!!!!i dont!!!! this should have ended a long time ago, i never thought i’d live to this age, this is enough, to close my eyes here, young and beautiful forever.i want to kill myself before my birthday, i don’t know, i don’t know what i wanted to write about, i can’t hear myself, only when i type and i read the letters on the screen i can hear something. i’m fucked up,i’m not, i don’t know, again, i don’t know, please just send me back into an episode, at least then i will be able to function again, i’ll be able to cry again, i feel like a fucking robot. i drew a story, an abstract story sorry this sounds so pretentious i don’t know how to express myself but i have to write it down. i drew a story about my mental state and i realized that i couldn’t share it anywhere…because it’s too personal, showing it to strangers is going to be like stripping myself naked, yet people won’t understand so i don’t know why i’m even saying that, but showing it to anyone will be as if i stripped myself naked, lied on the bed and let non surgeons to cut myself apart to see my intestines, will they be shy when they see the light of day? it won’t happen, i’m not picking that method anyways, i hope i don’t kill myself, but i’m running out of time, maybe i’m already out of time. thank god i can at least think through my fingertips, the screen and the keyboard, my words are all mixed up, my thoughts are swimming in chaos, i hope this ends soon.

im tired of being like this, tired of overthinking, tired of sharing and not sharing tired of you telling me you know it but you don’t l’m tired of hearing false shit made up by myself knowing I’m comepletely fucking autistic. I’m tired of thinking that I deserve to get walked over on but when I do it still hurts l’m tired of letting you know l’m tired of keeping it to myself. I’m tired of the memories, l’m tired of the days I can’t go back to but do you know? But can you see? Contradictions over and over again what’s seemingly pretentious what’s real and fake l wish it could just let me go

It hurts so much, I just want to stop thinking, I jusg want to stop being aware of it. Is it true or false? Telling myself they hate you they hate you they hate you but you matter so little to them that they don’t even bother to feel anything towards you but is that true? I hate myself so much I can’t breathe, I hate myself so much I’m going insane. All I can hear, all I can comprehend is that they hate me and I do too but what is true? What is real? Are my thoughts right because I’m never right but I don’t know I don’t know my mind is killing me. Nobody will know. I hate myself so much I can’t go on. I’m this and I’m that and my thoughts and emotions are jumping all over the place. Time and future is a far away concept, all I can see is a dead end? I don’t want anything anymore. I can’t recognize myself anymore, however I try to put it there’s no way out and I’m tired. The thoughts are strangling me harder than the times I pulled on the rope. Love and nothing but love, hate and nothing but hate. It will all be ok soon but you know it won’t.

I don’t want anything.
“You broke me” but you are a concept, in the end i did this to myself and I deserve every bit of it.

and you, you typing this, you know how everything went down yet you kept on playing the victim, you don’t deserve anything and you know it, not a thing. They didn’t broke you, nobody broke you, it’s just the consequences of you being alive.

what the fuck was I born for? All I did in my life was to ruin things, everything, I fucked up everything, if I was never born none of this would happen, none of me would happen,  it’s all my fault for being this way and I can’t go on any longer.

theres nothing I like about myself, there’s nothing I wouldn’t change about myself, I wish I wasn’t me, i just want to forget about all this, I’m so tired of all and everything, I’m so tired of living like this every single day

i want to get beaten until I lose my consciousness, I hate myself, I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself so much I can’t put it in words but to repeat it over and over again, no more beautiful imagery, no more goals, no more wanting anything, no more flashbacks of the past when things were alright. I want to die, but if I do I’ll just ruin things more, I don’t even have the right to take my own life. I don’t deserve to take the easy way out. I want to die, I want to die, it never got better and I’m so tired, I’m so tired of this.

I don’t deserve to live, I don’t want to live, I just want to be right for once but there’s no way out. I want to die, I want to die, I’m so tired of living like this. I hate myself I hate it I hate it I miss when I wasn’t like this, I’m going insane, I’ve gone insane, I want to die. No medication, no attention, nobody’s knows, nobody will come, I don’t deserve anything, nobody should come.

Everything. I. Do. Is. Wrong.

Everything. I. Say. Is. Wrong.

depression feels like a cleanser, a type of bleach, erasing everything in it’s path. it’s hard to describe because everyday, i feel the same, yet different. it had washed the last bit of passion in me, love, creativity…me, i’m fading away as a whole.

i’ve been trying my best, to describe all this, it’s hard to…type out a word, is this the normality or am i just fucked up?i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know. i don’t feel…i don’t know how to describe it, i  feel like i should be happy, or sad, or angry, so i put myself in that state yet i’m not truly anything, there’s nothing, i don’t recognize anything.

i can’t think, if that’s the way to put it, i can’t really recall my past as if they are my own. the colors, shapes, settings, they feels like some alternate utopian film, a video tape left by some time traveller, that i kept for my own. i used to feel like a slowly deflating balloon, now there’s no air, neither is there a balloon.

what to draw next, what sentence to write next, what fictional world i could put myself in. my imagination has been reduced to blank, i think i still love my family, but the color and temperature of that love is also fading, i feel nothing, i feel everything, and i’m now floating above all this trying to decide what i should name this emotion, a blur of overwhelming consciousness, the self loathing and tears mixed together and fermented and evaporated into a fog that clogs up my brain, my identity, my senses and mind. i remember having colors and shapes in my mind, can you get aphantasia if you’re not born with it? starting when?i can’t seem to form a clear image in my head anymore, i can’t form any image at all, but i used to be able to, i’m sure of it.

i don’t want my creativity or imagination or whatever to come back, i don’t want my head to clear up again, i just want out. i’ve fucked up everything to the core, it’s 21 degrees back home, and i’m here left to rot in a room filled with the evidence of my existence, to cry, to smile, to go on another day knowing i’ve died near the endless beaches, a child in that pink long sleeve with the print of a ballet dancer made of sequins and plastic rhinestones, as she sank her feet into the soft, moist sand, she would have never thought that that was the end of her life, as the sea water floods over her ankle and she poses for the camera, not knowing what’s to come.

I don’t know what to write about anymore. There isn’t a bright route out of this. I don’t know how to ensure a good future when i can’t see any in front of me, i can’t imagine myself growing old, i’m running out of more time and options by the seconds yet i do nothing to stop it. I hate myself so fucking much, so much that i can’t even proper talk to someone anymore because hearing my own voice and me being the way i am is bad enough. i can’t stand this. it’s all my fault. I can;’t even write about anything practical. It’s like my brain has shut down and i’m so confused, i’m so confused if i’m even sick or not, even if i am it’s my fault for being ill, who am i to blame anyone else? i can’t even find a way out, i can’t even end it from what started all this. i can’t get anything done yet i’m typing all this shit, i’m tired of waking up in the afternoon, i’m tired of feeling like a dead seed rotting in the soil, i’m tired of feeling like an invisible livestock in the pigsty. when will the butcher come and end this for me? but the end’ll never come.

why do we have to love anyone? it’s so cruel, it’s too cruel for my family if i leave like this. every single second nothing goes on in my head except the sentence “i want to die, i want to die, i want to die, i want to die”, i say it out loud without knowing, i repeat i hate you to the air like some sort of lunatic, i can’t do this, i can’t do this. it’s like all the emotions has been blended into one, i just want to die, fuck other ways to say it, “i want to escape” “i want to leave”, i don’t care anymore. i don’t have to right to take myself away from the people i love or i’ll tear the family apart, i can’t stay inside here either. even going into a coma is better than this, i hate my fingers as they move across the keyboard, i hate my voice and the hair that dangles in front of my face, i hate the voices, i hate the thoughts, i cant’ keep on writing, there’s nothing to write about. there isn’t even any actual content in this post, i can’t deal with it anymore, it ate me hollow from inside out and left nothing but the loath for my own consciousness and the love that’s only making things worse. i just want to get something done, i just want to get everything back on track again, the memories and thoughts feel far away, so far that i can’t barely remember who i am. i’m stuck in between the numb phase and the start of an episode and i fucking hate it, either hit me to rock bottom again or send me into depersonalization, i can’t care less, just make everything stop, the reality feels too real.

from what i could remember, it happened during the spring break, when my mother found the receipt of a dress in my father’s suitcase. the dress wasn’t a gift for my mother, in the end, until this day i still don’t know about the full story——i don’t want to know

i was in grade 6.

this is not the event that made everything go wrong, it’s just a small piece of everything that happened, but i don’t want to forget about it, even though sometimes it feels like that the past doesn’t exist, as if my memories were just planted into my brain seconds ago.

my mother and i get in fights way too often, ever since i was little. i was mostly the one at fault, because i was, still is, such a pice of shit. when i heard the arguments from upstairs, the sound of my mother yelling at my father, the first emotion i felt wasn’t sadness, i can’t recall what, but it was overwhelming. i thought, finally i’m not the one causing the conflict, and i didn’t want to stay in the house,  so i left.

they were yelling at each other, the memory feels surreal even now, i forgot how i reacted then, i still can’t understand my own feelings, even to this day,

my house is one block away from the elementary i went to, i was wearing a white pajama dress, with an all-over cherry print, and i just thought i need to be further away from the voices of my parents, as if then the conflict’ll disappear. it was strange, i couldn’t recall if i cried, but i do cry often, so i probably did. i remember seeing crows, a few of them, slowly, carelessly walking alongside of the road, i wanted to kill one with a rock, and of course i failed. it was a cold day, cloudy, i went to the playground of that elementary, climbed to the top of the rope pyramid, and thought, if anyone comes (as in my mother and father, but i was expecting my father since my mother goes hysterical at situations like these), i would jump down.

i experienced the “emo” phase earlier than most people, starting at grade 4, to the end of grade 7, i would talk about wanting to die and other stuff often, because it was cool. i forgot if i actually wanted to die then, i possibly did at times but most of the times i was just saying it to be special, but on the top of that rope pyramid the will to die was real, the funny thing is, even if i jumped then, i probably wouldn’t die, because the playground was covered in soft wood chips and i wasn’t up high enough.

i didn’t jump because nobody came. i was wearing a dress, after about one and a half hour later i thought i need to go back, because i couldn’t stand the cold. when i previously wrote about my memory, i included a lot of visuals, but i guess for this there wasn’t anything special, the sky was gray, i was in pajamas crying on top of a playground, that’s it. i didn’t want to go back, so i stayed in the backyard for a bit, then i knocked on the backdoor, my father saw me through the glass and opened the door for me, i guess they were fighting too much no notice that i was gone for 3 or so hours.

i don’t know, i don’t know why i’m sharing this. my parents didn’t argue often back then, they were fairly respectful and things were just..normal, they were. i don’t know what can be defined as a trauma, but i remember seeing my mother crawling under a bed, the bed that’s beside me right now, it was all dark, my dad was saying something while she cries, it was all dark and all i could hear was that and the song she played on her phone, the melody still fucks my head up. i don’t know why i’m sharing this, it isn’t even that important, but recently i’ve been thinking about it a lot, so i might as well write it out. it’s just a little thing that happened in the past, but when i hear that song, it still gives me goosebumps.

the lyrics of that song were in chinese. it’s a nice song, but i hate it, i hate it i hate it i hate it, i can’t stand the melody, hearing that song is the equivalent of knowing that my mother’s having another breakdown, but i still listen to it occasionally just to torture myself, i don’t know why, this is stupid, isn’t it?

here are the lyrics to that song, she used to listen to it all the time.

Friend, please don’t cry! 

Is there a window that can help me from desperation
Take a look at the colorful world that is only just a dream
Some people cry, others laugh; some getting lost, others getting old
At the end, it is still just the same!

Is there a kind of love that won’t hurt you
How much accumulates to intimate you so far
Which drunkeness won’t you wake up from; what type of pain won’t let you forget
Moving forward must not include looking back again…

Friend, please don’t cry! I am still your heart destination (meaning I still welcome you.)
Friend, please don’t cry! You have to believe in your decision
There are too many silly lost chases around the world (meaning you don’t really know what you are chasing.)
I can feel your painful heart…

Friend, please don’t cry! I’ve always been in the deepest of your heart
Friend, please don’t cry! I will accompany you, so that you won’t feel lonely
It is so so rare to have a really true friend among the crowd of the crowd
Thus, you can just ignore this (difficult) situation now……

…

Friend, please don’t cry! I am still your heart destination (meaning I still welcome you.)
Friend, please don’t cry! You have to believe in your decision
There are too many silly lost chases around the world (meaning you don’t really know what you are chasing.)
I can feel your painful heart…

Friend, please don’t cry! I’ve always been in the deepest of your heart
Friend, please don’t cry! I will accompany you, so that you won’t feel lonely
It is so so rare to have a really true friend among the crowd of the crowd
Thus, you can just ignore this (difficult) situation now……

i don’t understand.

something’s wrong.

i know that i’m myself, but something feels wrong. i have to keep doing things to keep myself together, i don’t feel myself. either i’m going insane, or i’m just trying to play the victim again, i fucking hate this, every part of it, every part of me. unintentionally i’ve created so many sides for different people, platform and situations, that they are unable to merge into one. i can’t clearly describe it anymore, if i stop distracting myself for a second i’ll fall into a loop of confusion. something is wrong, i can’t explain what. i feel like i’m transparent, outside of my own body, but alive, just simply perceiving reality is feeling strange.

depersonalization?

it’s like everything around me is getting more and more real, or i’m disappearing. i’m out of the previous depressive episode, when that hit, i could describe exactly what i’m thinking, but this time it’s different. i know that i’m myself, i feel myself, but i don’t think i’m myself. i don’t know if feeling something physically is going to help. i thought staying at home was fine, but more and more i feel detached from everything, even my own body. school, or at least being with other people helped to ground me down, at least then i knew that i was real. i usually feel this at night, 11pm to 7am, i guess it might just be my body fucking with me, telling me to go to sleep in it’s own way, who knows. i don’t know what’s wrong with me and i’ve never talked to anyone, which is a good thing, a few days ago i felt especially lonely, but now i can’t even feel lonely anymore, it might just be another one of those numb phase, shut up, shut up nobody cares nobody asked.

i don’t want to hear myself, i don’t want to see the things i’ve created, i don’t want to be here.

depicted by websites, depression or other mental illness sometimes “help” to spark an artist’s creativity, but the past 3 or so years everything’s drained out of me. i used to have so many ideas flowing inside my head, i can’t even fucking create anything anymore, all i want to is to cross out the things i draw and delete the things i write. i don”t know, i don’t know, i don’t know why i am going off on this.

everything feels like a dream. the past, the present, the emotions.

the cord on this lamp is really well made.

i thought strangling would help, i recognize my head, i recognize the song that’s playing, but something’s wrong. i want to die, i want to die, i want to die.

i guess i don’t have the energy for tonight, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel like anything, the first few times i strangled myself it felt relieving, i don’t know, i can’t handle this anymore, i’d rather feel something negative, anything, make me feel alive again. i want out, i can’t do this anymore. i don’t know who i am, it’s scary, i can’t even love anything anymore, the passion i once had, i’ve said this already, for so many times, the love, the heavy tears, they’re fading away, it’s just the eggshell walls colliding closer and closer, i want to actually like something i do for once, i want to find a part of myself that i don’t want to change” i, i, i,” all i think about is myself, i need to stop, everything needs to stop, i want to lay down and sleep for 3 days straight, i want to wake up near someone, just to be looked at, just to know that i’m still here, just to know that i’m alive, just to be loved. it’s so ridiculous and selfish, i don’t know if what the others think like, the people who aren’t like this, just take my everything away already. i don’t know what happened to fuck me up this bad. time is passing by extremely quick, i don’t know what to do.

a part of me is forever stuck in the past, another shattered in the winter of 2018, nothing has been going on, so why am i still like this?

what am i writing

usually I could write about things. I don’t know who I am, I thought I had hypersomnia but now I can’t sleep, everything is wrong but I can’t scream out. nothing is right, nothing I do is right, i can’t even write things out anymore. I feel weak, my head is completely quiet yet somehow, somewhere isn’t right. All I want is a way out, all I want is to stop being like this. Something isn’t right and I don’t know how or what, I don’t feel safe in myself anymore, I don’t feel settled, I don’t feel alive. This is my best attempt to write something out, nothing I write makes sense. Over and over and over and over again I don’t know what’s with me. I can’t leave, no matter what I do i won’t be able to leave, I need to keep distracting myself, I can’t even stop for one second or else the thoughts please catch up on me, I can’t run from it, I don’t even know what this is.

“Hey, I(look)stayed (at)up until (me)7 again”

“I’ve(look) been (at)miserable (me)lately”

how can anyone make it on themselves? How is it even possible to go on all alone?Look at me, lay an eye on me, tell me that’s I’m still alive.its going to be alright, it’s going to be alright, how is anything going to be alright if I don’t know what’s wrong?i can’t take it, I can’t anymore, even acknowledging that things are real is too much, I can’t run away from feeling alive, I can’t hide from anything, I can’t hide from anyone. a psychotic piece of shit.

the more recent the breakdown is, the more it feels like a faraway dream.

Apparently closed eye hallucination is a thing. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t dreaming, I was fully awake, I felt as if my eyes were open, then I had to close my eyes multiple times in the hallucination to open my eyes in real life. I felt first as if I was lying on the other side of the room, then from the dark behind my eyelids I saw a man walking to the washroom, I was squatting by a trash bin, there was a cup of coffee on top of the bin, the man walked into the washroom, then suddenly there was an lineup, a lot of people, lining up in front of the washroom. I got out of the hallucination for a second, then when I went in again it was just me and the trash bin, instead of the washroom and the lineup there was a dark tunnel.

im pretty sure that I wasn’t dreaming, a dream doesn’t feel like that, my mind was slow however i knew that I didn’t fall asleep. Pretty weird but, it was interesting, I can’t seem to get it to work again though.

edit:oops, was about to fall asleep, then I saw this purple blur and a streak of light, even though I had my eyes closed, guess it kind of happened again?

crying wouldn’t get the things out.

If you ever had those Asian meat and veggie stews, there’s a layer of oil floating on top of the sauce and liquid, and at the bottom of the sauce there are grains and clumps of food. When you drain the oil out, the clumps are still in the bowl, more compact, nothing changes. Tearing up is only draining the oil out.

I hate this, I hate how I’m in a constant conflict with myself, and I’m always the one at fault, since I’m fighting myself, I can’t win. Something really trivial happened and just triggered everything back. at least im not crying over nothing again, it happened because of an actual, but hey, hey, I’m feeling something, and fuck the stuff I said while I was in the numb stage, I don’t want to feel this, I don’t want to relive this, it just won’t leave alone. i have to pay back for everything good I feel, I was happy, god I was happy for the first time in months for one single night last week, and now I’ll have to pay the price. It hurts way too much, I can’t breathe, it’s all fake, it’s all fake, the reality I’m living in won’t let me live yet it won’t let go.

this is so fucking trivial, but my photos on both of my phones, they’re all gone, something happened, and there goes every one of them, I don’t even know what happened, but then I was upset, but i didn’t care enough to go into another episode, but then everything on my notepad disappeared.
im so terribly lonely I’m going to die, for the last 15 years, nobody has been to the inside of my heart before, haha, surreal dream, as if anyone actually had a person…we are all suffering, while I’m still holding a tiny bit of expectation, that someone will come and hold my hand.
The more connected we are, the lonelier we get. I see other people’s worlds, their happiness, things I’ll never be able to reach in my life. People under the sun wouldn’t even notice you, they don’t know that the shadows exist.

i havent cried this much in a while, the tears are just coming out and out and out, it’s good, thank god I can still cry. Keeping everything in is so fucking hard, at least the thoughts can flow out a tiny bit with the tears. Over what? Over the shit I wrote in a fucking app, more than that, but that started it all. I took escaping reality a bit fucking much and wrote so much about the love I wanted, I wrote so stories that helped to distract me from the fact that I’m here, and one click they’re gone, I didn’t even do it, I don’t know what happened, my diary disappeared 3 months ago when a similar thing happened, but it never hurt like this before, I through every last bit of me, the part that are still flammable into the bonfire of fake shit, words, characters, fictional relationships, and the protagonist isn’t even myself. I wrote about two people, being happy together, and that was enough, I wrote all and everything, only to have it all taken away from me again, and I’m all alone, its dark. it’s all in my head.

I just wanted to cope with things my way.

its so trivial, it’s fucking nothing compared to other people, yet I’m a fucking mess.

i don’t know what’ll make me get up tomorrow.

i don’t know what’ll keep me going anymore.

I just, secretly, at the bottom of my heart, I just want to be loved, like the character I wrote about, they held each other when they felt upset, they cared about each other, things I’ll never have, All I needed was to just write about it and that’ll be enough to make me happy.

jts taken away, again, just like everything else. I don’t know what’ll keep me going when I opened my eyes tomorrow, technically today, it’s 5:50 am.

In the end, no matter what I post, how I talk, how I feel, right now, at this moment, I’m just a fucking kid, and I don’t think I’ve ever grown out of the shadows, and life just took the last bit of passion out of me, I’m 15 but I ran out of time a while ago

no matter how long I last, it’s always going to end the same. People are right when they say it’s not going to be always like this, that it’s going to get better. But the “better” times come up for one day or two, they disappear,  then it’s weeks, months of suffering, instead hearing “it’s going to get better” in the dark, it’s worse to be under the sun knowing that “it’s going to get worse”

I’m not going to read this over, spelling and grammar might be trash, bear with me,

“Then why don’t you just do it?”

there’s no way out, this is way too fucking cruel, I’m running in a maze getting chased down by myself, while life fucks me up here and there just for fun.

I should do it, I should have done it a long time ago, I should have choked myself with the umbilical cord. I just want to live in my imagination, it doesn’t hurt anyone else, but myself yet I can’t do even that. I’m tired.

its 6am, I should sleep

fuck it, what a coincidence that it’s April fools.what if I leave today, a fool dies on fools day

what is it like to be loved?i wouldn’t know. escapism has gone so far where i don’t think i can face the truth, that i’m still alive, in the world. i’m still all alone. nobody’s there to listen, nobody’s there to love me, nobody knows this side except for myself, and i hate myself for it.

i hate myself, oh my god i hate myself with every single cell in my body. the depressive episode ended and being alive has been a numb, grey process of eating, sleeping, playing games, and more, the things i hate myself for. i can’t release the shadows, i can’t feel anything positive, or even negative, to an extent, low libido, low energy. i am not trying to diagnose myself of hypersomnia, but i’m suffering under some, if not many, symptoms of it. i’m so terrified of doing anything to my family, the guilt of being born is driving me insane, but if i leave i would hurt them and if stay i would hurt them even more. i know they love me, they’re the only ones on earth that care about me, yet the memories, the past, what they have done, i can’t go on, i can’t move past it, yet they’ll never know, they won’t ever hear it and they’ll never feel the way i do. i don’t want them to love me anymore, i don’t deserve it. i’m not in the place to talk about any of this stupid little boo hoo im upset stories, while some people has been through much worse and are still happy.

“hey.”

“what?”

“i don’t think i can feel happy anymore.”

“is that a good thing?”she asks.

i’m tired of changing who i am for people around me, yet i always have to change, all the time, i still do. if i want them to be happy i’ll have to become another, completely different person. who knows if they love me for who i am? they don’t know who i am, i don’t know who i am.

“i don’t know.”i answered her, the freezing chill of the spring wind travelled through the thin sleeves to my arms, then to the rest of my body, and i realized that i was wrong about how everybody felt the same.

i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry. the apologies won’t ever reach them. i know what i’m apologizing for, but they don’t. maybe it’s time, maybe i should just say fuck it, forget about the aftermath and leave. i can’t see myself growing old, i can’t see myself in a healthy relationship. i push people out yet i complain that i’m alone, god i’m so fucking stupid. i don’t see myself living that long, i don’t see myself going into post secondary because i feel like i would be gone by then, but now that i see it, it’s almost like i have to keep myself alive for longer. i don’t see myself, i can’t see myself in the future.

i wish i could disappear completely, so that i forget about the fact that i’ve existed, i shouldn’t have an impact on anyone around me, or please, at least make me invisible on earth. everything is grey, i smile, i tell myself “this must be happiness, this have to be”, but i don’t know, i feel the need to smile, but there’s nothing, there’s nothing at the bottom of it. despite of the low..libido, i try to feel something physically, almost as if i’m doing… it medically. there’s nothing positive, not even that. in the end i’m still all alone, dirty, pathetic, all alone in the dimly lit room, trying to tell myself that things are going to fix themselves. i can’t move on when all i can think about is how to live for another month, the aftermath of my death and the reactions of my loved ones. i’m scared out of nothing, self isolation did nothing to me, honestly it helped the anxiety to go down, it’s almost like i want another depressive episode, just so i can cry it out. i don’t deserve it, but i have to release it somehow from myself, right now, in this state, i can’t even cry.there’s nothing, no satisfaction, slight gratefulness when i receive something i used to want, and then the guilt. why should i own this when there are people out there that are dying and need the money? while i’m here ordering things that won’t even make me happy. someone should take my place, someone that can make a better life out of this, someone more likable, someone that is capable of being human. is there anything about myself that i want to keep? i asked myself that question, i can’t change who i am, and it’s all my fault, the only option is to stay a coward and end this for the better, yet i can’t, it’s too selfish, but i can’t wait that long, i can’t live like this any longer.

sorry.

I woke up, again. into the world where that wouldn’t leave a space for me, to be filled with hatred and anger and disappointment and sadness as everything rushes their way back in again. Yet I know that it’s my fault, but I can’t help to long to be loved.i know I’ll never be, I know because I can’t even put up with loving myself.
I woke up again, for the 5621st time in my life. The sky is gray, I need to go, but to do what? For what?

to work towards a future for myself that’ll only satisfy people around me. Yet the only beautiful future I see is the one without me.

i had a dream, a wonderful dream, where everything went away and I thought the suffering  is coming to an end, and I woke up.

the same eggshell walls, light green floral bedding, the same world as always. My eyes were burning. I’ve been crying during the dream. everything was so real.

one day in gr 3’s summer break, i sat through the tv sales ads and watched spongebob all morning just like every day else.

around 1 I took a nap.

mosquito bumps, the buzz of cicada, the linen beddings were moist to the touch, air conditioning wasn’t on to save power. It was nap time yet I wasn’t sleepy. i remember how my eyes traced to the patterns of the off white nylon curtains. i wasn’t much of a napping person as a child, but the only way to escape the heat was to go to sleep.

then the afternoon, it was the hottest part of the day. i snuck out through the wired doors of the apartment quarter. I had a keycard, but the gap was big enough for me to crawl out anyways. i lived close to the school, and near the school opened stationary shops, where i spent the money of my own, or sometimes a few bucks i stole from my parents’ pockets.
comics, cheap toys, if I had enough money, a popsicle.

i wasn’t interested in the idea of walking for fun, but my father had always insisted for me to go on walks with him, and i did on that day. There were benefits, however, there’s a playground in the residential area which we could go, or he could possibly buy something for me from the stationary stores nearby. there was also a dairy bar across a block, but that night we just went to the playground.

I sat on the swing, too short to reach the ground. As my father pushed me i felt the wind blow onto my face, almost chilling as it dried off the sweat on my forehead.
the air was still humid, warm but cooler than the morning, I looked up into the sky where the glow of street lights (dim, dusty, yellowish toned, surrounded by moths) softly blurred my vision. the dots of signal lights of faraway planes. There were speckles of stars in the sky, not a lot of them but visible enough the night to be considered starry. to my left was the murky, greenish manmade pond, thickened by mosses, yet the water glimmered through the gaps in between the lotus flowers and their round, plate-like leaves. A water strider hopped through.the buzz of cicadas softened, yet the night was still noisy, children’s laughters, crickets, squeaks from the chains of the swing

I wasn’t ready to grow up

stopping to ask myself why i can suddenly stop after laughing to other people’s jokes, and there i realized that i’ve been completely joyless, i find comfort and relief in pleasant things, i “enjoy” them in a way, but i don’t feel happy, i can’t bring myself to raise my energy on anything. i’m recording this for me to read later, i think writing this down might help me destress. but i don’t feel the stress, i can’t feel stressed anymore, all there is is fear of what’s up to come, the consequences if  i don’t get something done, or if i’ll make a choice that will change things up forever. i don’t want to sleep, i don’t want to face the morning, i don’t want to see the happy faces of people surrounding me, everything feels strange, as if they’re stripping away from reality, or my body and memories are rejecting me. waking up and feeling my identity and responsibilities again, just being alive, seeing this person i hate with every last bit of my heart, i’ve been burning out.

the human race isn’t going to shit, it’s just us.people are so aggressive towards everything else sometimes, it’s almost like they find joy in seeing other people suffer, maybe they do.i wish people had a complete set of morals. kind, innocent people don’t and shouldn’t have to live up the consequences of the mistakes of others, i’m not talking about myself, but i hold hope in the world, humanity, i love this world, just not me, not anything about me or surrounding me.

is having suicidal thoughts 50 times a day a part of growing up? it’s normal isn’t it, everyone struggles with these things, i shouldn’t feel special, i shouldn’t complain.i’m incapable of being human.

it’s so strange, suddenly i see my hands moving and i don’t feel like they’re my hands, as if my brain is defamiliarizing every part of the world, including this body, to me. i’ll only feel this way in one night. every day i think about ways to leave, what’s upcoming, the heart’s i’ll break, the tears, traumas to other people, i don’t want to be seen or to make any sort of impact to the world. again, again and over again, i think about myself and everything that proved my existence or consciousness to disappear, people’s memories of me. i keep on trying to seek the value in myself from others, it’s almost getting fucked up. i’m unable to see myself out of a toxic relationship of some sort, it’s almost like i prefer it.i only talk like this on this website, here i can drop down the characters i’ve been setting myself up as. well, not really, since i just deleted that chunk of personal things. i’m still trying to talk in the right way so people wouldn’t get angry at me, guess you can’t run from everything, hm? you only feel the same things for so long, and i’ll only be like this for tonight, it’s going to be over soon. it’s almost like i’m getting hugged by the air.

to feel loved without guilt. to feel loved, to be loved, to love, i don’t understand. am i too spoiled or self centered? it’s normal for people to go on without love, right? the hollowness is swallowing me from the inside, the pressure from the throat to my chest, the terrible feeling of being alone, for years, staying quiet and taking the blame, only to be bent more and more. i can’t see the value in me anymore, the hatred i hold for myself just for hearing the thoughts in my head. it’s normal isn’t it? for people to live on without comfort. it’s too much to ask for, but at least i want to have someone to tell me if i’m still worth something. they can beat me up, hurt me, whatever afterwards, i just want to feel loved, no matter the consequences. i feel a part mature and a part child, the memories never went away, the beaches and humid air in the summer, mosquitoes and the waves of air conditioning and the scent of dust, spicy snacks, or the polluted sky

i’m too tired to cry