The Diary That Was Long Overdue

April 17 2012

I did get creative. Yet not creative enough. I am still alive. After a second attempt at suicide. TV shows make it seem so easy to off yourself ya know? One try and you're gone. Of course that's not how it ends for me though. Why would anything ever go my way? I tried to over dose and bleed out last time, that didn't work. This time I grabbed some more courage. I wouldn't be so cowardly this time. I'd feel the air leave my body. I'd gasp my last breath and feel satisfaction. I was going to hang myself yeah that would work.
First I needed a plan. So I sat and thought when could I do it? That part was easy wait until mom and grandpa are both at work. What would I use? I needed to find rope or a belt something. I searched and searched the house nothing.. Mom really did make the house suicide proof. Or did she? Shoe laces. Bingo that was the golden answer. Next on the list where could I find a sturdy enough place to hold my weight? Moms stand up shower.. It has that metal bar I can't reach it on my own but that works perfectly. I would need a chair. Then If for a split moment I couldn't handle the pain of the string strangling my few last breaths out of me I wouldn't have the choice to undo it.
I got the chair inside the bathroom, triple knotted the shoe lace around the metal bar. Then I stopped I was missing something. Should I leave notes? I was convinced this would work. I grabbed a notebook and a pen. I was staring at the paper I didn't know what to say. These would be my last words after all. I had writers block. I decided I would start by addressing separate letters. One to mom, one to dad, one to bub and one to my biological father. I started writing but it was so angry.. I didn't want them to blame themselves even if a part of me blamed them. It was this cold broken world.. Circumstance made us the monsters we are.
I love my family, even with all of our brokenness. I can understand why they are the way they are. We've all been through things. Pain changes people, and I don't mean one tornado that we have to rebuild from. For my families its constant wounds from disaster after disaster. How do you rebuild after the last storm, when there's a new one crashing in? You adapt. You get thicker skin. A colder heart. You accept that this Is the life you get to live with, and you wait to die. In a sense you stop living and you're already dead. I didn't want to live like that. What's the point? I might as well see what actual death has to offer.
I threw the notebook. I wasn't writing letters they'd understand. Then something fell out of the notebook. A picture. It was a picture of me as a baby with my smiling mother and my biological father. We all seemed so happy. I laughed, because posed pictures don't tell the real story. That's why its called "posing" Its fake.
It doesn't show the 16 year old mother who is at her wits end. A mother who really does it all on her own because she didn't have anyone to rely on. It doesn't show a mother who's been through more pain than me at 16. It doesn't show a mother who hasn't committed suicide only because I was born. Her reason to live she calls me. It doesn't show an 18 year old father who has a drug problem. It doesn't show a father who manipulates and mentally abuses my mother. It doesn't show a father who abandoned his child. It shows a father who isn't a father at all.
Family portraits are prized memories. They are "Picture perfect" as you'd say. I am personally not a fan, when you look at them for a split second you believe the delusion. Could you imagine what a picture of the truth would look like? The truth is ugly and no one would want to look at that photograph. So we pose and say cheese because a lie is simply prettier than the truth.