i turned fourteen ten days ago.
sometimes, i feel like i’m dead already.
life, is dead already.
i don’t feel fully alive, sometimes.
my two favourite youtubers are on tour together. yeah, so…
last night, i went to one of their shows.
it was so fun and so incredible.
it might’ve been one of the best nights of my life, if not the best.
each and everyday is a part of my history, a history that will be with me forever. unfortunately, i know that forever, i am going to look back on these years of my life and all i’m going to see will be an ugly kid with mental illnesses and no friends, just, wasting her life away. i want my history, i want my past, present, and future, to be happy, i want to do something worthwhile rather than just doing this wasting. uhm, yeah… this is not really what i imagined my life would be like.
hm. i love when my kitten lays and cuddles with me. i love my kitten and i love cuddles with him.
the sky looked nice tonight. i saw the moon for the first time in a while. there were a few stars. the shade of blue was difficult to describe, it was deep, but, not black. like… navy, maybe. it made me feel some type of way.
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.
Remember me? I posted this video last week:Â http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9OpaekXGWPc
Well, I said I would write up each day what I did for my last week and I haven’t even been able to do this. I’ve been so low I don’t want to talk to anyone and have been cutting. A lot. I’ve come on here everyday but I just didn’t have the energy to write something. I haven’t enjoyed being with my friends or family and suicide is running through my mind all day. I’ve been tempted to take an overdose and have been keeping my medication (My mum has to give it to me now because no one trusts me… too right since I’ve been storing it!) I’ve got alot of e-mails from you guys supporting me and giving me advice but what should I do?
I feel I’m getting really bad again. This obsession with dying is literally unbearable. I don’t want to go back into hospital but if I tell the drs how I’m actually feeling I know they’ll just lock me up.. Again! I hate life.
Hi. I’m DahliaHawthorne, a person who feels like dying. I think everyone should have an attachment to something if they’re considering suicide. Like video games, or the really good veggie straws. Simple pleasures, you know?
My username comes from Ace Attorney: Trials and Tribulations.
Skip the little rant below this if you don’t care for video games. Yes, I am a female. TL;DR: I love Capcom. Their games are the only reason why I’m here right now. No, not my birth, not my science, not my family. Video games. I don’t have a life. Yeah.
Let’s start off with a honest confession:
I am hopelessly obsessed with the Ace Attorney series.
It started maybe back in October 2012. I never understood all of the OBJECTION meme stuff, and, well, I decided to look it up. I stumbled upon GCDotNet, the youtube channel. They have walkthroughs and video playthroughs for general video games including all of the AA series. I decided to start off at Trials and Tribulations, and became addicted to the series. All of it. About a month later when I’m pretty far in my obsession I stumble across the commentator for the playthroughs of T&T and the other ones such as Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective. His name is arglefumph on Youtube and I love him almost as much as I love Cry/Cryaotic/ChaoticMonki. He does alot of series-including the AA spinoffs such as AJ (yes, I consider Apollo Justice a spin-off) and ME:AAI. But I cannot get through my day without thinking at least once of the running joke in AA.
Or Ema and Apollo.
Where the word “fop” came from.
What happened to Iris Fey.
Apollo’s so-called “chords of steel”,
and so many more things about the series. I love it so much. I can’t live without it (literally.)
You’re probably wondering what this has to do with suicide, but I just thought I should let you guys know-that it helps to have something you are attached to, something you love so dearly you will not and cannot let it go.
I roleplay, and often question my existence. Yes, I don’t believe in God. No, I’m not an Atheist. I’m agnostic.
If you wanna take that issue up with me, go ahead and try.
I don’t know if this matters to you, but you’re beautiful.
This is a journal entry that I wrote on the night of my 18th birthday a little more than a year ago. Recently I revisited it and I wanted to share it with you, both to hear your thoughts and to reaffirm my own. Here it is:
I’ve been thinking a lot about depression and by extension suicide lately. I’m not thinking of planing my own death (or rather carrying out the plans that I’ve already made). I’m just trying to think about it on an intellectual level. This is difficult because Suicide and depression are matters of emotion but I though I would try anyway. I was re-reading some old things I’d written about the nature of emotion (specifically my own) and found documentation of my own depression. A feeling of loneliness and determination that overshadowed everything I wrote.
It is customary for those who are depressed or suicidal to feel disconnected, alone and even invisible. It is this feeling of alienation that leaves a person feeling hopeless but unable or unwilling to reach out for help and connection. Thoughts like “nobody cares”, “no one loves me” and “no one would notice if I disappeared” preceded thoughts and plans of suicide.
Depression is considered a disease. It is also however, a phase, one that repeats in peoples lives with slightly different manifestations, causes and effects. This I feel, is the natural progression of human thought, connection and understanding. Everyone feels alone, lost and depressed at some point.
Suicide, people say is an entirely different matter. I disagree. We humans spend so much time fixating on life (how one should live, what a gift life is and what life means anyway) that it is only logical that we balance out this obsession with at least a few thoughts about our death. For most of us, most of the time, this means a morbid curiosity and a healthy fear centered around the event that is the last moment of life. Things like the after life, Heaven and Hell are used to battle that horrible idea that this stretch of 100 years (if you’re lucky) is it and that once we expire there is nothing. I have found, in my experience, that emptiness or nothingness is one of the scariest things out there.
When thoughts of death turn into thoughts of Suicide, the amount of nothingness in life has outweighed the amount of substance. This leads to lethargy and lack of will or feeling. Eventually one reaches the point there they truly believe that “nothing matters”. From there, emptiness eats away at a person until it seems like death is a worthy and preferable escape from the numb, hollow feeling that has replaced the vibrancy of life. In this way, I say that Suicide is also natural. Necessary? no. Understandable? yes. Whether or not one goes through with the though, I believe that everyone has a stretch of time, a moment, a day, a year, where they thing about ending their life. Many never act on this feeling and for that they are brave. The people who do choose to act are equally courageous because they have chosen to brave the unknown state that is death.
This brings me to my next question: What makes some people commit suicide and others soldier on? I have felt the emptiness of life and the hopelessness of depression and yet I am still here. My friend is not. I drafted suicide notes, carefully planned my death and then walked away choosing instead to fight my way back to happiness. My friend left neither note nor reason and hung himself on a beautiful day in the fall when he got back from school. He was 1 year older, incredibly talented and had a loving, supportive family and a dedicated twin brother. What made us different? Why did he choose to die and I choose to live? These are questions that I can only wish I new the answers to. I wish I knew so that I could help others who feel as hopeless as I once felt (and sometimes still do feel). I wish I could help make depression and suicide a better understood part of human life. But mostly my reason is selfish: I want to understand my choice and why I made it. I want to know why I chose to live, a choice that I have sometimes found myself regretting but that I still cling to. I will probably never know.
Soooo…. there it is! Sorry it’s so long. I would love to hear your thoughts.
My life was great up until 6th grade girls became attractive, any guy who went near my crush became Satan. I was this super overweight, annoying gay guy with no life. Ok guys, sorry to rain on your parade asshole, but I’m straight, blah blah blah, suicide attempt after suicide attempt, failing everytime.
Moving on to 7th grade, my crush sort of became my obsession. She was amazing, and then she rejected me, enter my new friend, cutting. Then my crush became my hatred. Then my crush again. Then I gave up, and started taking interest in a new girl, she was beautiful, with her cute little add and her nice tits. She loved me as a brother, I hadn’t cut for weeks, that night I cut deeper than ever. And then I tried to hang myself. I failed. And I swore I’d never try again. And I haven’t.
i am so alone,
i am so lonely,
no matter which way i put it its still the same, and it doesn’t make it go away
i need love,
i crave love,
and yet i find my self alone, i find myself unloved.
i dont know what to do or say to achieve anything. so i am alone.
right now i have a stringent obsession for a girl that i will never be able to have,
due to one simple fact. she doesnt like men LOL
oh the calamity, that it so awful. i know right?
its whatever i guess, if the only thing i can be is a friend thats what ill be.
but it still sucks, and it still eats at me. but soon ill be all eaten up! (fuck you doctor suess)
i just wish one day i could wake up and know what to do. omg you lazy bastard you want a simple life?? yes, yes i do. thats for losers! well i guess im a loser
it would be simple and easy yes, but i guess it takes all the fun out of life. but how hard knocks is fun, i fail to see.
so instead i rant about pointless things when i really have harder issues to ***** about, but the hard stuffs straight forward, some how the simple things are what get under my skin the most. i really dont care anymore that my mom and step dad rage beat me or that my dad is a pointless nobody who likes to hold power over the young and ignorant, or the ones without power. that shit is explainable and its all in the past. though i may have reoccurring memories ive already lived through it once. the loneliness kills, the paranoia kills, the pain kills, the dull and dreary existence kills, the thought that some one else makes her happy and pleases her kills. its all the small things that are so great.
its just ugh! if i could go back 2 yrs in time and just run away to my friends and never went home, i would be better off, i wouldnt be lonely and ect.
but the choices you make right? all up to fate right? i dont fucking care. i just dont care. i will never ever be who i want, i will never ever get what i want and ill just be… exactly
i hate my name, i hate my face i hate my body i hate my choices in life, i hate my existence, i hate my mind, i hate time, i hate all the time.
i in reality am i nice caring guy, i tend to be a gentleman, and i can be sweet. but i see all these nasty fucking guys with all these friends and girls and shit, so i put on this persona of being just like that. and i get the title creepy. lol. yes i know its hilarious.
another thing, im a perv, and i like to flirt. but who doesn’t? but when i do do it, im a whore, bleh fuck the stereo types. im me. that’s it, just boring fucked up me.
i could write all this sappy shit about how i like her eyes, and how she has beautiful hair, or how i like her smile, i like to see her smile and make her smile and how i just want her to be happy. but it would be pointless, and probably push her away. so yeah
this is another one of my pointless rants about shit about shit with shit next to shit about shit on shit under shit with more shit about shit about shit about shit. (man you need a grammar lesson, that was one hell of a run on sentence.) go shove it grammar nazi.
this will probably go unread, and i don’t give a fuck, it feels good to write, although all i can seem to write is pointless babble. its gotten out of me and spammed sp, so i guess in effect it did something.
so it appears i came here to write about one thing and ended up on several, enjoy nonexistent reader.
My body issues are becoming an obsession, more so than usual. It seems like every time I pass a mirror, window, or anything I can see my reflection in, I have to look at myself. All I can think about is how disgustingly scrawny I look. I have even resorted to watching myself of my webcam as I use the computer. I can’t help it. It’s becoming a habit. An obsession. It makes me want to not leave my house and to just lock myself in my room. I try to start lifting weights to help myself, but I always get discouraged. I keep a tape measurer in my room too to measure my arms daily. Only 11 inches flexed. Not good enough. How can anyone ever love/like me if I can’t see myself in a better way? I need somebody to talk to… but there isn’t anybody I can talk to other than my therapist(who I only see once ever 3 weeks.). I feel alone and sad. I want someone to tell me that it’s gonna be okay.. To tell me that I matter.. To tell me I’m not as horrible as I think I am.
I wanted to talk about a couple of things today, one being coping strategies the other being about myself.
Starting with coping strategies; for years I have been told about trying various different methods to help me through depressive states, even how to cope in different ways other than cutting. Things like exercise, music, writing/diaries; stop me when it sounds familiar. I have tried all of those, and although some might have worked a couple of times, they were not long term strategies I could use and were often very useless.
Recently I stumbled upon origami, I have never really Â been interested and for some reason now I have this major obsession with it. It’s my first hobby and I am getting really passionate about it. I have also noticed that it is helping me with my depression.
The other day I felt terrible, I could feel myself getting lowered into the depths of emptiness I have known for years. Without thinking I picked up a piece of paper and started making a star. And after making at least 50 stars, I finally realised I had stopped crying, stopped feeling any emotions and was just concentrating on making these stars.
I was so surprised, confused and somewhat relieved that I could keep my promise and not cut. It’s amazing that I might have found something that could help me through these rough patches.
I don’t know how long this will last for, and I hope it lasts for a very long time. But even if it’s a temporary thing, just like the others. I don’t mind, at least I have something right now, to help me.
The second thing ties in with the above realisation.
My boyfriend was recently staying at my house for almost a month then had to go back to his house. I was pretty devastated at the thought of him leaving because for some reason when he is around, no matter how long, I either show very little depressive symptoms (althoughÂ I get ‘sad’ it doesn’t evolve into depression like it always has); or I get depressed but the cycle length is substantially decreased (so instead of it being a month, I might only get into a severe state for a week or sometimes a couple of days!)
I was meant to go and see him tonight at his house, but his mates came over for a boys night and I was cool with just seeing him the next day. He then got worried about me and told me that he understands that when he leaves I can become extremely depressed, and seeing him usually helps. He told me that he didn’t mind me coming over still, and that he totally understands if I ‘need’ to.
I was a little shocked and embarrassed at this, the situation I have been putting him in has obviously affected our relationship and how he sees me. Although it was the truth, I usually cannot handle it when he leaves and fall into a deep depression for ages, this time was the first time in about three years that it hasn’t happened.
I am hoping with every fibre of my body that origami helps me regain some control and independence in my life. And puts lessÂ responsibilityÂ and strain on my boyfriend, who has never complained, has always been there and loves me anyway. But it’s not okay to let him become my personal psychiatrist, and emotional ventilator. I cannot allow myself to rely on him to support me through life. I need to empower myself and move forward!
(To anyway who actually read all this, thank you. I was hoping to write a couple of paragraphs but once I started typing, it all fell out. If you could comment and give me any feedback, that would be very appreciated.)
Hey everybody, I’m new here…..kind of.Â Anyways I felt like I wanted to share my story, but I have no idea where to start or how to start. So I’m just going to ramble on and on until I feel like it should end.
I guess I was always suicidal.Â I’ve always thought of suicide as a little girl and its almost an obsession now.Â I remember trying to commit suicide when I was six or seven, but not strong enough to push the steak knife into the skin of my neck.Â Such a weak little girl I was.Â Anyways about two years ago is when my depression really started.
I don’t know when it really started, I was always sad. I had no reason to though. I have two parents who love each other very much, I have a decent house and a little brother and very supportive family.Â I used to be a girly-girl. It was my life. I was decked out in pink and frilly skirts and my goal in life was to get a boyfriend.Â I was a shallow *****.Â That was around two or three years ago.Â I was constantly sad like that, but I had a drive to get better.Â I was often shut out by my “friends”, but I made it my goal for them to like me.Â I convinced myself I wasn’t who I was, I told myself I was better.Â I was a skinnier than life 7th grade girl who could somehow manage to eat more food than anyone could give me.Â Then came softball season.
I was never good at sports, but my life long friend Maria finally convinced me to register for the town’s softball team.Â Now since I had just started with softball I was just plain horrible at it.Â There Maria & I met Olivia.Â We became the three musketeers and I began my transformation into a tomboy & anime nerd in one.Â They introduced me into Anime, which I quickly fell in love with.Â It became my life.Â I hadn’t realized my depression yet, but now that I look back I know it was there, looming over me like a huge storm cloud.
Olivia was always the quiet girl on my bus who never talked to anyone when she moved to my school in her 5th grade, my 6th grade year.Â We had cohabitated and tolerated each other for a year before we actually got to know each other through softball.Â Right now I was still the shallow little girl who Olivia had, well, strongly disliked although she didn’t tell me until we were very good friends. Now here’s the thing nobody knew about Olivia.Â My best friend, my sister, was depressed.Â With her father in Pennsylvania with all her half siblings and a single mom who only seemed to nag at her and the jerks in her grade who told her to commit suicide she began to cut.Â I was at first very alarmed.Â I wanted to tell her, no, yell at her to stop.Â That it was wrong.Â Oh how wrong I was.Â Now this was a few months after softball & she was in sixth grade still & I was still in 7th grade, the years we started softball.Â The more I thought about it, the more the idea of cutting became enticing to me. I imagined it, fantasized about it.Â But before this I had pertended to be ok with Olivia’s cutting as Maria was ok with it and revealed that she was cutting too.
Soon summer came and passed and my 8th grade year came.Â Olivia & I now shared a lunch period & Jordan came into our little group.Â Well it was more of I joining Olivia & Jordan’s little group.Â Maria was now in 6th grade and Jordan was in Olivia’s grade.Â Jordan had tried suicide several times, each one unsuccessful as she is alive today.Â The came the day Olivia and I openly cut in school during our lunch.Â I had never cut before this & we were cutting with the school’s plastic butter knives (don’t ask me why) and well the following monday we were both called into guidance.Â It was around 2 weeks from Christmas by now and I was deep into my depression.Â I had fantasized my death several times & had even started writing dark and suicidal poetry to help the pain.Â I had even fantasized my funeral.Â The guidance person, or whatever they’re called, Miss, oh god I forgot her name, but anyways we were good friends from when I still hung out with my old “friends” that I had recently ditched.Â With those “friends” I was in the guidance office every other week with the newest drama. I am forever thankful I ditched them.Â Well anyways I lied straight to her face.Â I acted like the happy, silly teenage girl everybody thought I was.Â I rambled on about my new dog & nearly every happy subject of life.Â Meanwhile Olivia spilled her guts to the guidance person and told her things that she hadn’t even told me.Â I was a little offended that she wouldn’t tell me, but I decided not to pry & we moved past that.
Life had gone on since then and I had been cutting ever since.Â Several times I tried to stop.Â Several times I failed.Â I started to recognize my parents favoritsm for my brother, something I should have realized earlier.Â I got mad at myself.Â I had almost every reason not to be suicidal, but then I found myself wrong yet again.Â In 6th grade, I was shoved by my mother on my throte, choking me.Â I have been hit before.Â The occasional slaps that may have ended up in a bloody nose if I had angered my parents so much to.Â This hasn’t happened in years though.Â They have threatened it again, but it has never gotten that bad as to be taken away from my home.Â We have been a simewhat happy family since then, dysfunctional, but happy or so my parents thought I was.
I have always been one of those weird girls in school.Â I was called a spaz when I was little, I was bullied, but not too much.Â I had my good friends but then we had drifted apart.Â The only one who has been my friend since elementary school is Maria.Â Now in the summer after 8th grade I was cutting badly.Â I cut my shoulder deeply with a pocketknife and figured out smart ways to hide it, but then it was also bathing suit season & I had no choice but to go on my families boating trips.Â I had tried to cover it up with band aids and fakeÂ tatoos, but my dad found out.Â He threatened to take me to a doctor.Â It wasn’t the first time he threatened that.Â We had often got into screaming matches where he threatened to take me to a doctor for my anger issues.Â He threatened to take me to a doctor for my overall weirdness.
The summer was eventful and several, several times I have convinced myself I am happy, only to fall down deeper, never to hit rock bottom.Â I don’t know if I will hit rock bottom, but I keep getting lower.Â I think I may be bipolar.Â I have my happyness & my sadness & every other emotion all in different times and all too real but too fake when they end.Â School has started up again & now I am a 9th grader.Â I have only worsened.Â Whenever I leave my friends I feel the smile fall from my face & the looming cloud over my head.Â I feel the weight in my chest that clenches around me when my mind drifts in that direction.Â I began cutting again, although I haven’t cut since November.Â Sometimes I feel numb.Â I have recently gotten into fights with Maria.Â We made up though, but I still feel horrible.Â I don’t know why I’m depressed.Â I can’t pinpoint any reason.Â I just feel so weighed down.
I feel like I dramatize things while not meaning to.Â My brother may be cruel to me sometimes, but so is life.Â Everybody gets in bad fights with their friends right?Â I don’t know why I’m typing this…do I want guidance? I don’t want anybody to tell me everything that’s wrong with me.Â I don’t want another inspirational speech.Â I know everything I don’t want and I don’t know what I want.Â I just don’t know anymore.Â I’ve contemplated suicide often and came pretty close to it.Â I’ve done sooooo many things that I want to just hide from.Â All the embarassing moments in my life! I hate them.Â I hate myself.Â I don’t know what to do anymore.Â Sometimes I want to go to sleep and never wake up.Â I never mentioned my struggling with my sexuality did I? Well in the pst year I figured out I was bi & possibly lesbian after trying to convince myself that I’m straight! I have so many indecisions in my life & I just want it all to go away!!!!!!!!!!!Â I want life to be simple and happy again, like when I was 4 and not a care in the world. How do I get the back? How do I get back the innocence & ignorance of all things bad & sad?Â What do I do? Why I am I asking so many questions? I just don’t know what to do anymore.Â I’m going to go before I have a total breakdown and maybe actually publish this.
Is it bad.. that i still fight for control.. after getting stiches twice from cutting “to deep” the first time i hit my tenton, about a year ago.. iÂ couldnt even move my left hand .. i didnt say anything for 3 weeks.. and the cut was still open.. i was in an intesive outpaitent center and finally they convinced me to tell my dad shall the doctor and they kinda i guess glued/burned it shut.. worse exspirence ever. Not stiches but you get the point..
The second time was about a month ago.. with the box of razors my x gave me i sliced at my right arm.. my left hand shaky.. i slipped.. i told the nurse at school. Stiches.
Now as i hold the razor in my hand and slice at my hip, i try to only do short shallow cuts. But their deep. If i use my fingers to full the skin they gape wide open.. but i promise myself no matter what.. im in control.. cutting.. is the only thing.. i’ve EVER had control of. And that day when i cut to deep.. i lost it.. the one thing.. i .. the only.. thing i ever had control of in my life. I sit in my bathroom, blood trickling from my hip. I wipe it.. cut right over the old cuts. I havent give my self much room to work with.
I’m in sports medicine. I wear a uniform and my sport season is coming up. I wear shorts and a short sleeved shirt. No room for cut there. I get dressed in a locker room full of other girls. You could say cut your stomach.. no they’ll see that.. as soon as i remove my shirt. I need my control.. i need this .. to be able to go to school.. smile.. to just be able to say “im okay” *smile*
None of your probally get it.. its sad though.. most of my supplies .. bandages, gauze, oitment.. all comesÂ from this place.. as much as i loveÂ helping other people i help myself to the supplies.. for my own obsession. I stole a scapel from them. 6mm scapel.. whey the have it.. dont know.. they had bout 20 in a box.. they wont miss one.. would they?
I sit here crying.. over how worthless i am. They boy i loved.. only wanted me for sex.
My parents and i cant stop fighting.. i refuse to take my meds.. so my mood races .. they dont understand its not me.. im not the one who yells… who freaks out.. its not me.. i dont.. its someone else..
but they never understand.. that this isnt the real me.. that all this shit from my past the meds everything is turning me into a monstor that im not.
I try to stay calm.. havent slept in two days.. went downstairs did most of my chores and then i asked my mom hey can we dye my hair today?
She said no.. cause i always post pone things never does what she asks.. its always a fight.. and i just broke. Everything i’ve been holding in since the last time i cut ( 2 days ago when i found out the boy i love only wants me for sex) just let loose. i kept telling myself you can cut after you dye your hair.. so you can be able to get undressed infront of your mom and have her help you wash your hair in the shower.
I did lay on the bathroom floor a bit before i cut.. i just lay their silenty crying trying not to sob.. i didnt want my mom to hear me..Â i dont need her.. i dont need anyone to save me.
I pulled the razor out of my wax case ( from when i had braces) and i slowly pierced my skin digging it slowly and deep but short. Not daring to make to deep a cut. Not again.. i want control.. i want control.
None of you probally understand this. Why wouldnt you wanna cut deep. I do naturally but when i get so wound up in my emotions i just slice. I dont take time to feel the pain of each cut. To watch the blood beedÂ up and pour from the cut. By the time i relise it.. my hands are covered with blood the floor splattered with blood and i sit their bleeding.. taking it in.. i.. lost it.. my contorl.. yet again.
I want control.. thats all i want..
I just wanna know how not to be scared about cutting to deep..
I want my control back.. if i dont .. get it soon.. i’m .. i’m.. gonna end it..
all of this pointless shit..
all of it..
btw who ever blueberrySman is do not go editing my post or taking things i say out of it.
Thats why i made this to exspress myself.. not to have someone change how i feel to fit their needs
Tonight is another one of those nights that I just really want to end my pain. It doesn’t help that it is gross outside… like gray and cold and shit. I am always affected by the weather… probably have that SAD Seasonal Affective Disorder thing.
I tried pulling myself out, by attempting to pretend that i am taking care of myself. I even bought groceries today, and I am chronic meal skipper. I got a haircut too, and I still feel the same. It is like I am trying to force myself to feel better, convince myself I am not a screw-up. Even though I know logically I am not a complete and total screw-up it is how I feel. I want to kill myself. I dream about who would care if I killed myself, who would find my body… I pick different people, sometimes the same person for awhile and think about their reaction to my unconscious-not-waking-up-ever-again-self and it almost makes me feel better, in a sick twisted way.
I have a death obsession. It is a serious issue. One day I am not going to be able to to take it anymore. I don’t know how many more of these nights I can take.
Death, sadness, joy…
Doesn’t matter if it’s a sad anime called fruits baskets, or a dead person. I can’t cry, nor can I though intense happiness. The tears have dried up completely. I come about a breath away from tears, yet they never come. For some reason, I hope to be able to again.Â
My mom and step-dad are most likely getting a divorce now. I remember the day my mom took 2 hours extra to get home and my dad accused her of cheating. Then a few months later, my dad asked on one cold night. We sat on the cold front yard and he asked who would I live with if they separated. I didn’t take him seriously, so I said,” at this house with you and get to stay with my…”
I said friends…. -_-… Those friends were assholes, bullies, and only a few years later would cause me more torture and pain than ever. Those years I was able to cry. I never cried when my parents divorced. Funny thing is I started my depression around that time, but don’t accompany it as the cause of the depression.Â
Now my mom and step-dad are divorcing. I wonder if they took my sister Vanessa into consideration for who to stay with. I was too young to decide, and so was I.Â
I kept thinking about love being the meaning of life. I was looking for my charger just now and found the box of chocolates for Jasmine that I never gave her. I hope it melts and wither and disappears. Maybe tomorrow I’ll microwave it and then chuck it away.Â
Love is obsolete. My parents don’t get it. And of course… Neither do I. My love is an obsession and with that… It’s a desire to find perfection no matter what. If these intense obsessions aren’t love then… What is love? Too hard to comprehend. I’m truly considering giving up completely on it. Just be single forever, or become a heart-breaker…Â
I’ll start out by saying I consider myself “addicted” to suicidal thoughts. The thoughts begun as early as elementary school and continued to thrive throughout my life. As I prepare to leave everyone I know and move a 1000 miles away to college, I can’t seem to commitment to moving forward or ending my life. I have made one serious attempt, one which had me hospitalized for 4 months, and that was just 1 out of my 11 hospitalizations. Life has been a long and hard journey for me. I have learned the hard way the cons of acting on these thoughts. I also know enough to know that it will cause intense suffering for my family, friends, treatment team, and people who have known me in other contexts. This may be invalidating to myself, but I am almost positive that my suffering could not add up to the total amount of pain of 100s of people. In a way, by living “I’m taking a hit for the team.” Suicide hasn’t been my only problem. In fact, my obsession with suicide stems from the fact that it is my main way of “problem-solving.” This may sound weird, but when I see conflict in TV shows, I sometimes expect them to kill themselves. And they never do. Suicide is not a solution, its a HARD way out, but not a solution. The fear you feel when your close to dying is intense and over powers all the pain. Why is that I know suicide is the wrong option for me, yet I can’t let go of the idea? That leads me to think suicide means something more to me than the actual physical act. I haven’t figured out what, but it has become a part of me. I sit here typing this because I feel so alone with my pain. Yes I have a therapist, family, and a few friends, but when it comes down to it, I am utterly alone. No one can be with me for all of my suffering, and even being alone with my thoughts and feelings for one hour is too much to handle. I got accepted to my dream school, but I don’t want to leave my therapist. She is the only thing that keeps me afloat. I get phone-coaching from her outside of sessions and I’m in the habit of talking to her for at least a few minutes everyday. My dependence is even more obvious now that she is on vacation. Because I can’t talk to her this week, I’ve turned to journaling. My target behaviors have ranged from drinking, to self-harm, to yelling, to misusing meds, and now to disordered eating. Eating is just another way to channel my uncontrollable anxiety. I’ve become obsessed with my body and what I’m eating. It’s one more thing that gets in the way of me experiencing any joy. I can’t do this. I can’t stay in my current life and I’m not ready to make such a big transition. You should know, this is my last chance at the college experience. I did 5 years of high school and took this year off from school altogether so if I get any older, I will have to take a different route. Some may think its over rated, but going to college is something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m tired of feeling torn between my options and a part of me just wants it all to be over with. I’m sure some of you have been in the same situation–missing life experiences because of your struggles. I don’t know you, but anyone who continues to live each day despite incredible suffering more than deserves to feel better and be able to live their life to the fullest. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read my rant. 🙂
I am so completely exhausted by constant suicidal thoughts and fantasies. Anytime I make a little mistake, or when someone’s response to what I’ve said feels off, there’s a voice berating me, telling me, “I hate you, you’re a stupid fucking whore, go kill yourself. Go kill yourself Rachel. Go kill yourself,” over and over and over. Every day. The theory being: “Everyone remembers every little stupid thing you do and they hate you for it. You should kill yourself and make them forget how stupid you are. Don’t tell anyone, don’t ask for help. They’ll never see it coming.” I don’t think I’ll actually do it. But I’m just so tired.
And then there’s the fucking cuts. Last May, I made a promise to myself that I would stop cutting. And I made it. One whole year. I was so excited and proud of myself. But last Sunday, something snapped in me. I was angry, I lost control, and I made nine fresh cuts on my legs. I don’t use a razor, so the scars aren’t permanent, but they can take up to eight months to disappear completely. Some of them are still pretty red, and whenever I see them I feel like crying. I just remember how excited I was on the anniversary of the promise I made. I feel the deepest possible disappointment. I feel betrayed. But when I’m cutting myself or wanting to die, it’s like it’s not me doing it. I’m even there, watching, pleading as anotherÂ conscious entity tortures me.Â I’m losing my mind and I hate it. I want help from someone close to me. But I don’t have the nerve to try and get it. I’m ashamed of the cuts. I always was. I don’t know if any of my friends would be able to handle or understand the want for suicide, let alone my own unwilling obsession with it. I just…I want it to stop. I just want a stable range of emotions and a brain with the ability to let go. I want to forget.