well, unfortunately, not a single soul truly cares about me. i need to understand that. that the only one who cares about me, is me.
hey. today is friday the 13th. but, it doesn’t make much of a difference, since all days of life for me hold a significant amount of bad luck and misfortune.
i’m so scared.
even though i’m an awkward introvert with social anxiety, i miss people. i miss being around people.
i’ve come to realise i’ve never really had a true friend, so, i can’t say i miss having friends. i don’t really know what it’s like to have friends. the idea doesn’t appeal to me much anymore. maybe, i miss the idea of them. the idea of a boyfriend is more appealing, which is weird, i know.
the idea of having someone i can expose myself to, and let them truly know me like no one else knows me, is bittersweet to me. it must be so… amazing, to love someone and have them love you back. all of you, all the bits and pieces you choose to expose to them and the bits that they discover themselves anyway. but, i’ve never had that, and it looks like i never will have that, which is the bitter part.
i’m the only person who knows me. who knows me inside out. and, that’s sad to me. if anything ever happened to me, no one would know the real me. i want to have people in my life who deserve to know the real me. i want to have people, or just one person, in my life that we can expose all aspects of ourselves to eachother, that we can love eachother so deeply, that we can rely on eachother no matter what.
i’m not just lonely, i’m alone. i’m so alone, and, i don’t want to be alone anymore. people need people. i need people.
well, the truth is, i’m all alone in this world.
Fighting echoed though my house and ears. Screaming and yelling from my younger brothers mouths, screaming “I hate you!” “I wish you were never born!!” “Your stupid!”. All because you messed up, you made a mistake on a video game, geeze why this again? You never had suicidal thoughts before, where did you get the thought? You went up to your room silently screaming. You tried to drown but chickened out, you grabbed a belt and tightened it around your throat but the closet poll wasn’t high enough, you got another thought, you grabbed a razor you thought it wouldn’t cut good enough so you grabbed an exact-o knife and cut deep. The blood slowly came out then it rushed down your arm. The tears are coming faster than before, “Why won’t I die!?” you feel dizzy and tired so you lie down asking to die begging to die. Your mom calls you down you quickly search for a long sleeve shirt you can only find a white one. You run down the stairs hiding your arms, your mom speaks in a voice so gentle “I’m sorry for yelling at you today, and I’m sorry about your brothers there boys.” your mom looks at your shirt and says, “you need to change your shirt its dirty” she points at a stain you breathe a sigh of relief, you go back up change and sit then once again your mother calls you down. You head down and she hugs you tells you how much she loves you, you start to cry. “Why are you crying?” you wipe the tears but they keep coming. “I made a mistake…” “What? What did you do?” you look at her worried face you shake your head no. She seems to get worried and starts to raise her voice “What did you do?! Tell me now!” you slowly roll up your sleeves and you regret it so much. Your mom grabs your arm and screams and turns white. “GOTO YOUR ROOM!” she’s panicking and calls your dad he rushes home from work and they see all your cuts and your goodbye note. You can never forget this day, its the day you tried to die, the first time…
Every since I was little, I’ve never wanted to be me. To be me is to always be depressed, always sad, always morose.
Life has made me into a dark ball of anger and hate, and jaded beyond the moons. I do not hate all of me, but I’m tired of most of me- the me that is non-functional, the me that keeps me in the doldrums, the me that keeps myself prisoner in my own mind.
Sigh. I’d rather trade me to be a “happy healthy idiot.”
Here is me.
- I am like the Great Attractor for bullies
- Everybody around me are either sadists, bullies or a quiet bystander.
- People accuse ME of something that I did NOTHING wrong.
- I am suffering from severe depression.
- I have thought about at least 3 suicidal thoughts when I go to school.
- I HATE school.
- 99% of the time when I get bullied or when I fall down or get a cut NOBODY helps me.
- Teachers do nothing about the bullying or sometimes even bully me.
- People don’t quite understand me.
- I get bullied AT LEAST 5 TIMES A DAY.
- I am NOT exaggerating.
- I just (by “just” I meant a week ago) took an online test, it said I am Type IV gifted! “The type IV gifted are the angry and frustrated students whose needs have not been recognized for many years and they feel rejected in the system. They express themselves by being depressed or withdrawn and responding defensively. They are identified very late; therefore, they are bitter and resentful due to feelings of neglect and have very low self-esteem. For these students, counseling is highly recommended.”
- I am helpful, loving and caring to people, but people are NOT doing that to me.
- I don’t deserve the bullies I get.
- I want to make the world a better place but I can’t.
- I am very nice to people BUT people are absolutely HORRIBLE to me.
There’s some discussion as to what bah looks like. I’ll tell you what bah looks like. Here you go folks:
And while we’re at it, I found a picture of Cordless online. This is what she looks like after eating a hot pepper (…or after she’s done murdering someone with an axe…either or). Note the satisfied smile, and the crazed sleep-deprived murderous eyes… :
Which emoticon are you?
I just stumbled across the site two days ago. Decided to start posting today. I have to say it helps. Trying to help others feel better makes me feel better, for now. I guess it is why I have a degree in Psychology. That I don’t use anymore because of chronic illness. Oh well, none about that. I am going to try to go to sleep with thoughts of sunshine and light. lol Thank y’all.
Well, it’s the third day since I’ve left my dad’s house, yesterday I was very confident that everything would work just fine, now I’m not that sure… I’ve been feeling simply terrible since that, I simply don’t know what to do, which way to follow, I just want want someone to speak with, but who would want to be with me at a time like that? Even I don’t want to, I wish I could simply feel better but I can’t I don’t know for sure what’s wrong, but I’m sure something is just off… so many months and years having my feelings only for me so I could stop hurting those around me, over and over again, I started getting cold but now everything is just coming back and I simply don’t know how to deal with it.
It is simply too much and I just want to be heard but at the same time I don’t want to hurt anyone with this side of me, so I’m simply putting some distance between me and those who I care the most, but still… I want so bad to be with them… could someone… save me from myself?
my life was good when i was little. i am 13 years old now. my mom is an alcoholic and i don’t see her anymore. she used to beat me and my sister and my brother, and tell us we are worthless and her drinking problem is all our faults. my dad took us away from her, then i was diagnosed to ptsd, a stress disorder. i hate acting happy, and i feel so alone. i kinda think this isn’t going to help me at all, but i need to try it because i ran out of options and I’m really close to ending life. i feel so worthless and useless, so thats my story. the usual messed up teenager with bad grades that gets caught by the cops..
She smiles through a thousand tears,
and harbors adolescent fears.
she dreams of all that she can never be;
she wades in insecurity
and hides herself
Honestly, whats the point anymore? i hate life, and life hates me, who gives a damn if i go to hell. im already living in it, i can deal with it. And i wouldnt doubt it being better than my own pathetic life. If anyway i wanna go is going to be overdosing, cuz my mom has a big bottle of sleeping pills, and i could easily kill the whole bottle. Cant do a rope, since i dont know how to tie a noose, and i dont know where i could i put the rope, to hold my fat ass. Cutting too deep, i dont think i have sharp enough blades, and knowing my parents would knock on my door, being bitches as they are to me. And jumping…where could i jump off, and how would i get there. I dont want any movie crap, where police and firemen come to the building, saying “oh how i deserve to live” or “it gets better”. no FUCK that, ive been wait since 4th or 3rd grade. Almost 5 years of people saying, “its get better” dont give me that shit! I dont give a damn about myself, im prepared and ready to die. I just need the right date.
P.S. Feeling empty is better than feeling worthless,depressed,stupid, ETC.
Reason To Live: I Love You All <3
To be honest with you, I don’t remember the first time I did it. I never really cut at first.. It was more like scratching. I used to get my key and scratch my arm with it. It hurt… That was all I wanted at the time. That began over a year ago.
Why did I do it, you may ask..? Well I felt so helpless, I had no control over anything in my life and I thought that it would help, but it was more than that too! I felt numb. Nothing made me feel anything, but when I scratched myself, I felt pain… And I deserved to feel pain.
Everything was my fault. My parents’ divorce, my sister dropping out of college, my best friend getting pregnant… All my fault. After everything I’d done, I deserved to suffer. I deserved to feel pain andÂ only pain.
But it got to a point where just scratching my skin wasn’t enough… I had to bleed. I had to use a knife. I remember the first time I did that. It was the start of the school year. I rememberÂ why too. Â Being a redhead, naturally I get a lot of abuse for the colour of my hair. You’d think after fifteen years I’d be used to being calledÂ ginger. But that day it irked me more than usual. It wasn’t just the word… I’m fine with the word… It was the way it was said. It just made me feel so worthless. Like because of the colour of my hair, nothing about me matters. So that night while I was sitting on my bed crying while questioning life, the universe and everything, I opted to use a knife rather than a key.
And it was liberating.Â
That night I learned just how sadistic I really am. As soon as I made that first cut, my tears stopped. I was in awe… The sight of blood had been what I was really craving. It was amazing. I loved it. I loved how it felt to be in control.. I loved how the knife felt in my hand. I loved how the blood dripped down my arm. I loved every second of it.
Soon I became completely addicted. Almost every night I would mutilate my arm. A smarter person would have chosen the thigh, or somewhere easier to hide, but that was the least of my concern at the time. I didn’t care where it was because I didn’t want to live.
Months later I stopped. But it didn’t last long. I did it again. And then I stopped. And did it again. Stopped. Again.
Needless to say… IÂ can’tÂ stop.
It’s my drug.
I need it.
But I’m not as reckless as before. It’s not as often. Not as dangerous.
I don’t know where to go from here. Last night my mother found my instagram page. It had nothing bad on it but she freaked out. Look at my account is Mozar121. Anyways then she wanted to all of my accounts to everything, my email, facebook, everything and when I told her no she didn’t like that and told me to move out. I said I will if that means I don’t have to see you and then I was walking out the door when my dad showed up. We talked for a while which I never do but I told him somethings I’ve never told anyone. After all that I was feeling better but now whenever I see my mother I feel like wanting to kill myself. I can’t stand looking at her and I just need help on how to avoid the thing that will happen if I do keep seeing her. Help me please.
I think I might try in a couple days…
It’s earlier than I expected but I can’t handle this anymore…
Goodbye everyone… I hope you just follow your hearts…
My wrist lifelessly dangled off the edge of the porcelain tub; a stream of red tracing theÂ lines on my hand. A pool of crimson waited below. The bath water looked like a distilled merlot. I lay silently, salty tears racing down my face. My mascara sat idly under my eyes tired of running. With the little will I had left, I turned my head to look at the self inflicted mutilations. The word â€œ Helpâ€ was carved into my soft, white, flesh. Under that, â€œSave MEâ€ screamed for some attention, fresh blood still dripping down from the bottom of the E. My head jolted back. The cuts began to burn. The feeling in my arm was coming back. In the fit of my earlier rage, I felt numb. Therefore, i felt the need to feel. The sharp blade of my pocket knife digging into my wrists was a feather tickling an infantâ€™s face; a soft touch and a pleasurable feeling. It took about a half hour of watching the fluid drain out of my body to realize what I had done. The stinging began to fade again. The numbness had returned.
This isn’t really something I usually do, I’m more of the “bottle it up” kind of guy, but I really need to get this out and Google led me here as an appropriate place to do so. It’s up to you if you want to read all this, but at least if you do, I have some validation of my efforts. Which I imagine would be nice.
Well… here goes.
I should be happy or satisfied enough really, shouldn’t I?
I mean, I did life right. I left school, got a steady dead end job and got myself a place to live independently. In this tough economic climate, that’s a real fucking achievement apparently. Or at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me. But I can’t seem to gain any joy or even a modicum of satisfaction from it all. It all feels so sodding pointless.
I am waiting to die. That is the reality of it all. All of my achievements are worthless because I don’t care about them and nobody will remember them. Not that I really care about what others think or feel about me at this point. I’ve only met two people in my entire life who I could truly relate to and both died.
I’ve had relationships and a fair bit of meaningless sex, though I’ve never truly loved another person. This rather tragically includes my family. My parents are “there” I guess, but we don’t really see each other all that often since I moved out of my Mum’s house. I just could never emotionally attach to them, even as a child. I guess it didn’t help that they spent the majority of my youth arguing. The end result is I’m in a self perpetuating cycle of loneliness and recessiveness. I want someone to talk to and to be around but I hide away because it’s easier. I’m no good in social situations and I’m often ignored. This is partly because I try not to go outside and largely because my mind is a frazzled dick-shaft of a mess and that anything that comes out of my mouth is usually so cringe inducingly stupid or inappropriate that I just make everyone feel either nervous or awkward.
I escape reality through drink and books, though I can’t drink enough to achieve alcoholism due to crippling, anxiety related stomach pains. I’m on a pharmacy’s worth of medication as it is.
It’s just all so fucking tedious. Plain and simple. We waste the best years of our lives in education and work. It’s not worth it. The only thing keeping me going these last few years was a fear of “what comes next”.
Maybe it’d be easier if it was some kind of pact where I wouldn’t be alone but I don’t think that happens outside of comics and movies.
I think I’m ready to cross the line now though.
If you took the time read all of this, thank you for doing so. I can only apologize for taking up your precious time.