I’m only 18. I shouldn’t be so worried about this. Why can’t I stop thinking about this? I’m so afraid that I’ll mess up when I do have a kid. I’m afraid that I’ll neglect it. I’m afraid I’ll care more about myself than I do my child. I’m afraid that my child will love its babysitter more than it’s mother. I’m afraid I’ll lead the child down a path it was never meant for. I’m afraid I won’t be the mother I could or should be. But it’s more than that. I’m afraid I won’t be able to have a child. I’m afraid I’m barren. I’m afraid I’ll miscarry. I’m afraid I’ll slip and fall and my baby will die but I was so close to labor that I’ll have to give birth to a precious child that will never get the chance to live. I can’t get these thought out of my head. I’m only 18 years old. These thoughts are not the kind that should be filling my mind. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
“Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” – Exodus 3:5b
My life is one that has been ravaged. I portioned out the substance that I once had to the rats and cockroaches in the deepest gutters of my soul. I am left, a shell, an empty vessel, waiting — wanting — to be filled. I have called myself a Christian, and I have — shamefully — become no more than a stumbling block. I have sold myself to drugs, to alcohol, to sex, and to hate. I want nothing more than to slough off the impurities of my sin. I want only to rid my spirit of its weak flesh. The will necessary to enact this plan, however, only shines her meager light in the heart of my nighttime solitude. There is a change that must be made. There is a girl who must die. Lord, I sacrifice her to You. Please, God, please take this disgusting worldly burden out of my soul. Every ounce of her sunken flesh, every speck of her filthy mind — rid me of her. I want to come back, God. I want to live and bask in Your glory. I want to do no work but Yours. Please, instill in me Your spirit of fire and of passion and of self-discipline.
Lord, I’ve found You again. Please don’t let me leave.
“I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world alone
And there’s no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go”
Is it time? Is my time to head to that land finally here? I found out tonight that everyone that I thought was my friend thinks I’m a “thot.” I don’t blame them. When I broke up with the guy I was seeing here, that same night I hooked up with someone else. A few nights later, I got drunk and hooked up with someone else. Who wouldn’t think I’m a slut? I guess they’re right. The realization that everyone thinks that about me hit me like a fucking derailed train. The chaos that ensued my mind was overwhelming. I sobbed for a while, for the first time in a long while. I just want to go home. I want to go home.
If everyone thinks I’m dirty, then how am I supposed to go about changing that? They’ve already made up their minds. There’s nothing else I can do. I didn’t mean to fuck up so badly. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to make everyone hate me, but I did. I’m disgusting.
“Death is at your doorstep, and it will steal your innocence, but it will not steal your substance.” What substance? I have none left. I gave it out to people who, for once, showed me attention. I portioned it out to the rats and the cockroaches in the tunnels of my mind. The “substance” that I may have once had is gone. I am gone. I am a hollow shell — pathetic.
My only problem tonight is I can’t see if it’s time to go to “that bright land.” I dream of the bottles of sleeping pills I have, just a few feet from this very spot. I want to live, yes, but what point is there? All I’m good for is disappointing people. All I’m good for is nothing. My talents include sucking dick and failing those that I love.
I just want to go back. I want to go back to the innocence that I once had. I used to be such a good kid. I used to be such a good daughter, a good friend, a good sister. Now my brother has abandoned us and my parents are no doubt in a state of constant disappointment with me and, well, my friends all think I’m a slut. So what do I do? What is there to do? Maybe I should just end it. Maybe I can finally be in that glorious land. Is it time for me to finally be free? Please tell me.
“i could hear my heart beating. i could hear everyone’s heart. i could hear the human noise we sat there making. none of us moved. not even when the room went dark.”
i don’t know why i’m here. i can’t quite seem to figure out anything anymore. sometimes i get these little fits — my roommate calls them “funks” — in which i am just unhappy. i am upset. i am sad. i am angry, at you, and me, and the trees, at the world. and i don’t know why. i never know why. a girl is supposed to know herself better than anyone else could ever dream to know her. well, what of the girl who has no idea who she is? what of the girl whose internal well never runs dry, without reason? i walk through life in a steady façade of happiness. i am always smiling. i radiate joy. people like me — being around happy people tends to make others happy, after all. inside, i am not happy. i am worthless. i cannot look at myself without seeing the failure i have brought upon myself, my family, my friends. i am a disappointment. my mom once told me, “silence is the same as consent in the face of oppression.” is that true? could i scream at my mind, tear my tears apart, and that be the answer to my problems? or will i just sit here in my dark room, unmoving? my human noise is loud. it is a cacophony of fear and of sadness and of hatred for myself. i used to be so content. i used to truly be happy. how could i have done this to myself? i was always the girl who laughed in the face of tyranny, who forced myself past sadness, because sadness is for the weak. and now, look at me (if you can — i can barely look at myself). i’m disgusting. i am nothing. i never was, never will be anything. have you seen the movie Sleeping Beauty? not the fairy tale, the 2011 Australian film. do you remember the line, “rise up and walk, none of your bones are broken”? that scene crushed my very soul. i am that old man. my heart was filled with an overwhelming sadness at those words, because i, like the old man, am broken. every bone is shattered. i can’t explain it, mainly because i don’t know why, but there it is. i fear i will share his same fate — or would that be my best option? it certainly was for him. someone once posted on here, “it’s so easy to be needy when nobody needs you.” this need that i have now is so great, so vast, it fills every orifice of my soul. and no one knows. no one would care if i told them. i am needy. i am not needed. i just want to be normal. i just want to be okay.
i’m sorry this was so scattered. i’m coming down from adderall.
i’m so scared. please help me.