There are times when I’m just laying in bed. Acting okay,
talking to people on the computer, as if everything is fine.
I’ll go downstairs, as if to get something to eat every so
often, so my dad thinks that I’m eating. I go through the
routine, open the cabinets, refrigerator, maybe make something.
I’ll take it upstairs to my room. Sometimes I do eat it.
Sometimes I eat too much. Other times I’ll just let it sit
there. Then throw it away. My life is just a rerun. A sad
pathetic rerun.
I often get in slumps. I don’t want to do anything.
I’ll just lay around, bored. I don’t want to be
bored. So I’ll make plans. I’ll ask somebody to hang
out, go to a movie. I’ll get ready, go through the motions,
get dressed, brush my hair, shoes, socks, etc, but when
it’s time to leave.. I don’t want to.. Like my mind
totally changes. And I’ll lay in bed. And do nothing.
There are points where I don’t want to do anything. It gets
so bad. I’ll let my room to pieces. My dad comes upstairs
sometimes. He comes, knocks on the door, I’m too
embarrassed to let him in, so I say ‘go away’, and he
comes in anyway. He makes comments to me about how he cant walk
in my room without stepping on something. There are dishes piled
high on my nightstand. I’m a slob. But I don’t want
to clean. I can’t.
I cry often. Usually for no reason. I’ll just get into a
depressed state, and be really sad. I’ll curl up into a
ball and cry. Sometimes yell and curse at my sister for what
she’s done to me. Curse at a lot of things. Curse at the
things that messed me up. Curse at myself because I’m so
stupid. How could I not be stupid? I’ll most likely be a
druggy like the rest of my family.
I usually act fine. I’m usually a pro at it. I’ll
talk to people normally, but I can’t help but want someone
to ask if I’m okay, even though I know I can’t answer
honestly. I wont. I don’t like to bring people down. I want
someone to hug me, and tell me everything will be alright. I want
someone to show me.. that there’s an actual purpose to
life. But I wake up every morning, or afternoon. Look around, and
realize that this is it. There isn’t a point to living,
living on this planet. For what? To learn to walk, to talk,
teenage drama, jobs, kids, death. What purpose does this have?
None.
I don’t belong here. I belong in a grave.
Not even. I just should be thrown at the bottom of the ocean,
shark food, at least that’ll serve some purpose. I know
they’ll be attracted to me anyway. The blood from my cuts
works as a nice lure. It’s happening close to every week
now. Sometimes more than that. But that’s okay. I’m
don’t do it on my arms anymore.
I often think about death. How it’d be easier. People
wouldn’t have to worry about me and I wouldn’t have
to worry about them. There is no point in living anyway,
especially with my life. That’s alright though. I’ll
just try my best not to waste oxygen. Or space. Though, being
lonely is hard. Having no one who cares is also hard. But. Life
goes on, sadly.
I remember the time I almost killed myself. I took my dad’s
gun and loaded it. I sat there for about an hour before I put it
down. That’s when my grandma came. That’s when she
decided to get me help. That’s why I went to see a
therapist. But I don’t like it. It’s uncomfortable. I
don’t like talking to people I don’t know.. or anyone
for that matter. Especially about feelings.. It’s hard to
open me up that way.
Her name is Linda. She says I’m depressed. I say I’m
psycho. She says that I’m not, that I’ve just gone
through a lot of crap that I shouldn’t have and now
I’m feeling all the sad emotions at once. But I don’t
believe her.
I get in happy sad moods. Like a roller coaster. My mood is up
then all of a sudden it drops. I hate it so much. I just want to
be normal. I wish I could be normal.. I wish I had friends. I
wish I had someone. I wish things weren’t so complicated.