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.
i don’t know why –
today has been relatively normal, i went out for a bit, and there was some arguing – but, nothing out of the ordinary…
all i know is, i was just watching tv and somehow my hand creeped up to my eyelashes and started to pull… and pull…
once i -properly- realised, i thought to myself, ‘the pleasure will last short of a second, then you will regret this for months.’
yet, i continued to pull.
after a while, i stopped. my lashes now look sparse, with a few gaps but… it could have been worse, i guess.
i am ugly – my eyes are ugly. everything else about me is fine, perfect, even, but my eyes – they are so ugly.
i don’t know what has happened to them – they used to be pretty. the past few years, they have started to change, for some reason. the only way i can ‘fix’ it is by wearing winged eyeliner and eyeliner on my waterline, and sometimes they can look great, but usually, they don’t. i mean, they look decent, as i’m pretty good at makeup, but two minutes after applying the eyeliner on my waterline, it just doesn’t look as good as it did when i first put it on, which changes how my eyes, and then the rest of my face, look.
it makes me very upset, and has made me lose a lot of confidence – i mean, i have social anxiety too, but i feel as though if my eyes were pretty, it would make my entire face look pretty, and i would feel confident enough to be able to do normal, everyday things. you wouldn’t believe how different i look with and without makeup on.
i’ve tried to understand why my eyes have changed these past couple years. i used to suffer from trichotillomania, and would pull my eyelashes out, except, i developed that at age 8, and my eyes didn’t start changing until around 10 years old. i’m 13 now, and even though all my lashes have grown back, my eyes don’t look how they used to. is it just what is natural, and am i just going to have my eyes and my face like this forever? will i be ugly forever?
(ps – i just joined this website, i don’t know how to look or even respond to comments or messages, so, sorry if i don’t reply)
I don’t think I want this, but what am I saying? I never did.
This isn’t the life I ever wanted to live. I used to have so many hopes and dreams… And now? There’s… Nothing. Just broken remains of the buildings of my hopes and dreams, shattered by those who thought lesser of me, as if their cruel words could never hurt me. But not just them. The family never helped me, if anything, they made it worse. This isn’t where I should be starting though. The suicidal feelings, the depression, everything like that, developed at around the age of 7. But what started it happened earlier on in my life.
When I was a kid, my mum thought it appropriate to go out drinking, practically every night, and leave me with druggie babysitters. It wouldn’t surprise me, in all honesty, if they forced me to take them at least one time. But, sometime, in October, 2002, when I was 2 years old, she abandoned me, with my half-brother, roughly 1 or 2 years older than me. We were left on stripped, wooden floorboards, with no blankets, no food, no babysitter, nothing. But, I believe the neighbours picked up on it, and I was soon removed and put into the care of my Dad. I’m 14 years old now. My Mum has had our home address and phone number for 12 years, but I believe she ceases to remember that I ever existed. I never received an email, a letter, a phone call, a card, a present… Nothing. It just makes me feel even more unwanted in this world.
When I was 7 years old, I developed Trichotillomania, and it has greatly changed my life for the worse, and I still feel like I’m held captive by it. The thing is, whenever I would pull out a massive lot of my hair or eyelashes, my Dad presumed I did it on purpose. I never did. I can barely stop myself sometimes. I just have an urge to do it, and, before I know it, I’m doing it. To this DAY, I still pull out my hair and eyelashes, though, my eyelashes are most affected.
Because of Trichotillomania, the girlfriend my Dad had at the time I developed it, soon started arguments with my Dad about it, and they eventually broke up, but, that’s nothing compared with Sam.
Samantha… My Dad’s “childhood-sweetheart”. More like “childhood-psychopath” if you ask me. She me develop trust issues, sleep issues (I haven’t slept more than an hour a day in around 3 years), emotional issues, mental issues, made me feel like I was constantly being watched, and I became extremely anti-social. She used to shout at me every time I had a bit off a rough time dealing with Trichotillomania, and she would practically shun me for months at times, and yell at me. In the end, she actually started badly bullying me, and somehow managed to get my Dad to as well. She gave birth to my half-sister, the first sibling I ever got to meet. But, I don’t believe I shall see her again. It saddens me, as I have a brother, half-brother, and a half-sister, and I doubt I will ever have a conversation with one of them. I only got to hold her ONCE, but it was for what? 5 seconds? Several months before she was born though, I was led to run away from home. Sam had driven me insane. Never had I felt so free, I felt happy, but, the police eventually found me.
A couple weeks before my birthday, there was a massive fight between Sam and my Dad. Sam believed I had stolen £10 from her purse, and I never did. She started off by saying she was going to search my room, but, my dad said OK, but only if he could watch to make sure she didn’t plant it. She furious, and they had a massive argument, that lasted for 3 hours or something upstairs. But, at one point, she walked downstairs, picked up my sister, then went upstairs, hitting my dad, threatening him. And when they cooled off a bit, she was walking down the stairs, a couple steps in front of my dad, and she slipped, and my dad grabbed her to make sure she was OK. But, a couple minutes later, she had told her sister that my Dad was refusing to let her leave the house, only until she cooled off, and about 20 minutes later, my Dad was arrested.
He didn’t come home until 4 AM.
Months later we received a letter. Apparently, Sam had said my Dad had pulled my Dad down the stairs, when she clearly tripped, and she was mentally bullying me.
After she moved out, we were plunged back into poverty, and we found it hard to eat proper meals, as we could barely afford them. But, I was so used to it, it didn’t bother me much. But, me and my Dad haven’t been close to each other ever since.
Recently, I’ve done severe self-harm, attempted suicide (I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to kill myself), suicidal letters… And resulted in visits from social workers. As if a normal conversation between my Dad could be even more awkward.
I can go into so much more detail, but it hurts too much. But I ask you this:
How can I NOT hate myself after everything this happened? Give me one reason why I should carry on with my life, when all my hope of my Dream Job and Perfect Life has been obliterated more times than I’d care to count.
i suffer from:
- social anxiety
- self harm
- severe self loathing
- daily (hourly) suicidal thoughts
and i’d say all of these have been keeping me from living my life the way i want to, they cause me to hurt others emotionally, and they’ve all been getting worse. i don’t know if i consider what i’m doingÂ living,Â but rather merely staying alive; always wishing to drop dead any second.
it’s been 17 fucking years.
in all honesty i can’t wait until it ends. 14 cuts this morning, more soon to come. starving myself, pulling out my hair. what a great way to spend my birthday.
anyway, im losing everybody, which is what i want even though it hurts. i dont want anyone to live for so i could finally just fucking die. my birth day isnt a happy day, i’d say its the worst day of my life tbh. all i want is a nice new pack of razor blades…..
since 3rd grade i’ve struggled with trichotillomania. for those who do not know, trichotillomania, often linked to anxiety disorders, is a hair pulling disorder. many people think it is just a habit -like my mother- but it is not. my father believes this issue of mine can be fixed by using punishment, he’s fed this idea to my mum and she’s tried it. of course it didn’t work. my doctor suggested prozac -my mums against any anti depressants- i want it so badly. i want it so that i can have my hair grow back nice and thick, i want it because a side effect is suicidal thoughts and it’d be great as a little booster to push me off the edge.
but she wont let me have it, so im stuck feeling like this, dealing with this. everybody points it out, the fact that my hair’s gotten so much thinner within a few months. people always ask me why i ALWAYS wear a hat. they think im weird. odd. crazy. people i feel comfortable telling this to always just say, “why dont you just stop?” or, “you’re doing it to yourself, its your own fault.” but no, its not my fault i’m anxious all the time, they all make me feel that way, i cant control it. there’s hair everywhere. living a childhood with this disorder is difficult beyond belief and over the years it has torn me down. i have no self confidence what so ever, its terrifying. i’m never going to be beautiful enough…
if i were to die i’d no longer have to deal with this.