Threw a party and nobody came. I guess it isn’t just my all in my head that I’m a shitty, horrible person. They really would be better off without me.
Huh… turns out mental health issues don’t go away with a new environment.
I relapsed and have pushed my best friend further away from me. She would be better off without me in her life. I have no place here.
Holidays make me feel the most alone. I’m numb.
I’m just so fucking lonely. People I thought I could turn to just don’t seem to care. I’m truly undeserving of love.
Everyone says reach out for help when you feel suicidal. A couple celebrities die and suddenly everyone cares so so much. What happens if you reach out and nothing happens? I’ve reached out. At 16 I told my doctor. “Hey, I don’t feel so great. My head feels heavy and I’m scared of everything and I thought it was just a phase, but I’ve felt sick for a long time now and I’m starting to feel like it’s not just my age anymore.” She told me I’d probably feel a lot better if I lost weight. If I attend her expensive nutrition classes and exercise I won’t want to die anymore. She has a point, I think as I cut my thigh open and dream of a flat stomach. I reached out to my mom. She saw the cuts on my wrist and asked me about them. “I feel like I need to hurt myself sometimes and I don’t know why.” She slapped me. I stopped reaching out for a long time. When I was 22 I reached out to another doctor. She asked me if I had anyone I could turn to when I was feeling suicidal. “I don’t really feel comfortable telling other people, but I think of my cats and they make feel a little better.” She laughed, confirming how pathetic I felt. I think I don’t want to reach out anymore. People talk about having other people that help tether them to sanity and happiness. What happens when there is no one to reach out to? When there is no tether?
I wish I could be more present for everyone. I wish I could transform my empathy into a positive cause. I wish I could be the person that helps others. I wish I could say “things get better” and “life is worth living”. I wish I hadn’t lost my sense of self.
I feel like I don’t want to get better. I just want to give up. I’m exhausted.
Last night I crushed up 27 hydros and mixed them in water. While I was doing this my husband was sitting on the couch. His idea of comforting is silently staring at me or giving me the occasional “there, there” pat on the back. His eyes burn when he looks at me. He’s scared of me. Just like everyone else always has been.
I understand. Death is scary. I am someone who invites death. I’ve always been scared of living. I just wish he could be brave enough to talk me back. To look at me like I’m not scary long enough to make me think I have something to stick around for.
He was there, sleeping on the couch soundly, when I cut my thigh open two nights ago. He was there as I was sobbing in bed at 5 o’clock at night. He was there later in the night when I gathered the materials to make that cocktail, silently watching me. He read the text messages I sent asking if he would notice if I died. He was there and that’s all he was.
I’ve been staring at this bottle of pills for over two hours now just waiting for someone to stop me. No one is going to.
Just had to pay for $5 worth of gas in borrowed quarters so I could get to a job interview. I’ve got a college degree that I thought I could use to help people with, and now I’m interviewing for a second minimum wage job. This whole living thing is really overrated.
I could say some bullshit about all the things that caused me to be depressed, but they won’t actually be what caused me to be like this. A lot of people have gone through my situation and been just fine, in fact my situation is probably really easy. I take full responsibility for being the way I am. I’m just not strong enough, not resilient. Maybe too gullible.
My parents divorced when I was five, it would have been worse if they had stayed together. Dad was an alcoholic and Mom was taking care of him more than she needed to be. There was that small period where nobody would admit the divorce needed to happen. They called each other really bad things, forgot to pick me up from school or bible study. I remember dad kicking mom’s car when they both got calls that I was sitting outside of the church at 10:00pm scared because class had ended almost 2 hours ago and nobody was there yet. That was the first time I went to a counselor. I don’t remember much, I think she mostly talked to Mom.
We moved to a new town 2 hours away. Mom was living with her boyfriend who she meet on an online game when he was 18 and she was in her early 40s. A lot of people assumed he was my brother when he picked me up from daycare. He shot one of my dolls while practicing archery once. I only saw dad once a month after begging him to come see me. Our routine was him calling one weekend and saying he was coming then calling the next weekend saying he wasn’t until I begged and he said maybe next weekend. I always cried. I felt like I wasn’t good enough, like visiting me was a burden.
I had friends. I was always the funny one. Always smiling and the one people went too for advice. At home mom was usually exhausted and we spent most of our time in separate rooms. When I did take to her I knew she was annoyed. I didn’t clean up after myself as much as I should have. I made things difficult. I was a burden for her too.
I started eating too much. I gained weight and didn’t really like how I looked. I was going through puberty which wasn’t helping. I was just disgusted with myself and so was my mom. I was constantly called out on my portions at home or poked in the stomach. I started sneaking food. I don’t really know why, I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t really like eating that much. Maybe just a way to defy her. It ended up back firing in the long run.
I continued to defy mom in other typical teenager ways as I got older. We started arguing. Her boyfriend would start doing things he knew I would get blamed for. She would call me a ***** or moody. My grades slipped. I just didn’t think I was smart enough and there was no point in trying. I got scared of growing up. I set milestones for when I wanted to stop living. “I never want to go to high school, I hope I die before then” “driving is too scary, hopefully I’ll be dead before 16”.
I started cutting myself. I was the weird fat girl at school and at home I would punish myself. I didn’t do it for attention or because it felt good. I did it because I felt like I had to. I was great at hiding it. I was also great at lying.
Then I found a group of people I didn’t annoy and a teacher I didn’t annoy. I didn’t want to punish myself anymore so I asked for help. I asked my mom if I could get help. I went to our doctor and cried my heart out in the exam room. I got referred to a psychiatrist who put me on antidepressant and Mom used her 3 free counseling sessions through her insurance. We fought in the car after every session. Now that my cutting want a secret at home, I was treated way worse. One time I had my best friend over and she was helping me was dishes when my mom noticed some new cuts on my wrist. She started screaming at me. I was silent. I was so embarrassed my friends was right there watching the whole thing. My mom slapped me across the face and just kept screaming. I switched to cutting on my thigh from then on.
I eventually meet a boy and kept everything secret from him. I didn’t feel so ugly when he was around. We graduated together, we got a cat together, and we moved out together. It should have been perfect. I felt like I should have been fixed. But I had been telling myself I was all these things; fat, ugly, annoying, stupid, weird for so long. That doesn’t just go away. It was habit. I was still good at lying. I was out of a nasty situation but I was still living like I wasn’t. I went through a period of trying to act healthy. I quit my antidepressants cold turkey a few times which made me lash out.
I was in college doing a poor job. Trying to learn how to be happy. All I really learned was how to fake it even better. I graduated and got a job. That voice was always in the background telling me I wasn’t good enough. Even worse it was telling me I was faking for so long. How would anyone believe me now. If done everything I was supposed to. I grew up got a job, I was going to get married. All the things my mom said we’re still there. You just want attention, you’re just being dramatic, fat, ugly, *****, you don’t have anything to be sad about.
Now I’m married, I quit that job, I’m working at a call center where I spend most if the time thinking about how miserable I am. I’ve applied to any gotten rejected from so many different places for work. I’ve got bills stacking up and a person that relys on me now. I’ve gone back on and off and on and off again on the antidepressants. 2 weeks ago I drove 30 minutes out of town and found a spot away from the roads where I sat and looked up ways to kill myself, that’s how I found this place. I have 28 hydrocodone and a bunch of other otc meds but I know over dosing hardly ever works. That’s my story. I’ve been told so many times life would get easier. It hasn’t. It’s gotten harder and now I actually have something to lose. I should have killed myself earlier. I should have acted all those times I wanted to.