I’m
sorry. But I CAN’T FUCKING DO IT ANYMORE. I know I’m being selfish but I just
can’t do it. It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I know people care. I’m past that.
So many people have showed me how much they cared. I’m so sorry for hurting
you. But I’m just done. I tried to be happy, I tried to make it work, but I
couldn’t. I’m sure I could have eventually got better, but I don’t think I
could stand being here that much longer. I don’t know when things started going
downhill. My first cut was nearing the end of seventh grade. I did it maybe a
few times then, but didn’t the entire summer. Then, I’m not sure what happened.
I guess in maybe around October of eighth grade year, I just started cutting
again. It was a way to release my feelings. It kept me, sometimes, from
screaming at the top of my lungs. I know some people thought I was seeking
attention, and that killed me, because I honestly wasn’t. I was able to keep it
hidden for the first eight months I did it, and even then when it was
discovered it happened to be while I was in my p.e uniform. I would sit for so
long, just thinking about creative excuses to give, if anyone were to see. But
then someone did, and I panicked. But at that point no excuse I had would have
been believable because of the amount I had up and down my arm. I still remember
the day it was discovered, like it was yesterday. Soon after, I started
experiencing suicidal thoughts. I don’t remember when they started exactly,
just sometimes around then. But I knew I was safe for the most part, because at
that particular time, I didn’t have the courage to actually end my life. But
now I do. I have for a while now. Maybe since the end of eighth grade. I guess
I just got so bad that I now felt able to it. It’s hard to explain completely
how I felt. Sometimes, nothing would be wrong really, I just felt like the
weight of the world was on my shoulders and there was nothing I could do about
it, and I felt so depressed. That, I believe was a chemical imbalance, because
I had several different variations of an event like that happen where nothing
was really wrong at that moment. Sometimes, I cut out of anger. Or sadness. Or
fear (anxiety). It was just my way of coping, and even now, I would think into
the future, and just wonder… how was I supposed to get better? What is
something that someone could do, that could possibly make me feel better? I
didn’t understand how it was possible. So.. this is it, I guess.
Points: 159
Reviews: 45
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