I tried to reach out for help today. I’m so upset with myself. I was so close. She of all the people on this earth deserves to know where I am and what I plan on doing to myself.
Earlier this week, I said that I was going to be planning my suicide for July, however, I have decided to postpone it until I can do it… “naturally”… So until I can find or buy what I need, I’ll just have to live.
Today, I’m writing my suicide notes. I figured that even if I chicken out by July, then at least I’ll have something to leave if I do it later. I feel like an awful person for doing this, but that’s why I want to kill myself in the first place.
I’m struggling with an eating disorder. I’m not even going make it sound big and scary; I have EDNOS or baby anorexia. Because I’m overweight and I still get my period. Some people might think, “Not having an actual eating disorder is a good thing!” However, I feel pathetic for not having the real thing. It’s like I can’t be sane enough to just lose weight naturally, and I’m not jacked up enough to have anorexia.
I should have kept going to therapy, I should have told my mom that I was sticking my finger down my throat to lose weight, I should have told her that my therapist wasn’t helping me, and I should have told her how low I truly was.
I could have spared her false peace of mind, I could have saved myself from this relapse.
But, I didn’t, and I wouldn’t, and now I’m paying for it.
I’ve come to a conclusion: I’m insane. I used to think that I was just unique, then again, my young, naive eyes sought for any and everything that would make things better.
Looking at some of the crap other people have gone through and comparing their situations to mine, I feel like an ass. I really should be grateful for my life, but instead, I’m here, desperately seeking someone, even someone who is quite possibly as unstable as I am, to give me a reason. Just one.
I guess I should just get to my privileged-child sob story. Where should I start? Ah, yes, the first time I got this low; 6th grade. I was, I am, an outsider. I went to a school for adolescent geniuses. Everyone seemed to know someone else and I, well, I got acquainted with depression..Beautiful isn’t it, how depression is seen as the enemy, when often, it’s the only one there when you’re at your weakest…
High school… isn’t that explanation enough? Freshman year was, let’s say my blossoming stage. That was worded terribly, I know. Anyhow, I came out that year. Out of the asexual closet, if there is such a thing. Along with trying to accept my odd, and often unacceptable sexuality, I was also battling myself over my weight. I was, well, I am overweight, but it was worse back then.I am 5 foot and I was nearing 150lbs. So I did the natural thing and stopped eating. I don’t know, maybe my mental issues were a product of my suicidal feelings, but they surely didn’t help. Long story short, I stood in my kitchen, with a knife pressed against my throat, begging God to forgive me for what I was doing. But then an awful thought occurred to me; the person who was going to find me was almost surely going to find me was my four year old nephew. I couldn’t do that to him. Not in a million years.
Anyway, somehow, I pulled myself out of my fatal nose-dive. But now I’m here again. Lost in despair… I haven’t quite set my death in stone, I’m looking for a reason…..
All that I can truly conclude is that I’m crazy. Well that and suicide is sort of like a ghost, that haunts us all and yet, some escape its cruel grasp, and others are to weak to fight back.