It has been five long years since I last posted here. Weird to think that I was only 15 back then. Not sure if I should cringe or laugh at my old posts. Even so, I still carry the same fears I had back then. Through the years I’ve experienced a lot. Churned the butter. I might aswell make a quick summary, for those who’s interested.
It didn’t go well after 2015. I developed social anxiety. Like all teenagers at 15, confidence was non-existing. I already knew I wasn’t like everybody else. My personality never seemed to shine through. Middle-school was indeed bad.
High school was even harder, can even call it cruel. Cruel for the people that loves me, that is.
In my country, you become of age when you turn 18. Us kids soon started sipping on alchohol, and partying was a must now and then. I never understood the unfortunate events that could happen when you’re tipsy.
I one day agreed to go camping with a group of close friends. We of course packed the bottles aswell. All turned out great, until it was time for bed.
Christ. I led a guy on, teased, forgot that I had my man waiting for me in bed at home. I found it wrong, made up my mind and made it clear that we shouldn’t do it. He continued, he had other plans. The fear kicked in. I was locked in shock, and glimpted supressed memories from the age of five. It had happend again.
I showered to times the day after. I couldn’t get feeling off my skin, my mouth. I scratched and clawed but still, the grip stayed under my skin.
I biked to my boyfriend that night and told him what we had done.
Have you ever heard the sound of a person turn miserable? I know, cause he never recovered from it.
I didn’t exactly know what to expect. He took it as if it all was the guys fault. Was it? I made up my mind, didn’t I? I should be blamed, right..?
We drove to a center for a checkup. Took samples and checked for evidence. Multiple people came to write and analyze the situation. They were there for me. I never deserved any of the treatment they gave me. I was dirty all the way from the inside out.
Even my boyfriend consoled me, and insisted that we would pull through this. Somehow we did. We are at our year two. He should find someone better.
I don’t deserve good-wishing words, sympathy or the people that held me up. I don’t expect to get any of it either. I still blame myself every time I recall what happened that night. I frankly hope I forever will.
My nerves never calmed down after that, and I could hardly be at ease with myself, either personality-wise or around other people. I stopped meeting up at my psycologists appointments. I felt disgusted that I still lived. I took pills, hurt myself and spiraled back into being suicidal.
I am now at collage, first year of three. I managed to move out, get friends, work on my degree. Yet these thoughts and ideas of me being dead, haunts me.
I am not the person I used to be back at middle-school, but the pattern keeps on going and going, and I’m growing tired. Very tired of the sight of me hanging. The itch is deep within my head, just behind my ear. But I can’t even fucking reach it.
I am stuck with myself, this fake progress. I really am at my limit. I’ve stored this rope long enough, it has waited years to be knot for something useful.
I am not sure what made me come back here, at this webite. I in fact used some years to find it. It’s quite well hidden. I remember writing to people who are long gone now. I feel somewhat lucky to have talked to them.
I will update you when the day is right for me. If I don’t, well then I suppose I’ve made it, out of pure luck. Either dead or alive.
English is not my first language, so excuse the grammar.