S T O R M

blood is thicker then water

When I was younger, I was put on medication for ADD and lied to about it for my whole life. My family claimed I didn't have ADD, but there was that itch at the back of my mind saying I did, saying they were lying. The only way I know about this is when I over heard one of my moms conversations.

That's not the only time my family had hid one of my disorders from everybody else. I have yet to see a therapist for a few things; Suicidal tendencies, Night terrors, anger issues, anxiety, psychopathic tendencies, and much more.

Let's start with my suicidal tendencies. When I confessed to cutting, I wasn't met with reassuring words and tight embraces, nor suggestions for therapy or a psychiatrist. No, I was met with yelling and anger. My mother decided to go off on her suicidal daughter that was in pieces, trying to stitch herself together with no needle. She told me I'd be locked up in an Asylum with all those crazy people, talking as if she'd send me herself. Then she started blaming my friends, telling me to stay away from them. I, of course, defended the people who stood by me when nobody else did, screaming back that they're the ones that helped me stop. That they're the ones that helped me heal. She took a wooden spoon and slammed it against my side hard enough for the bruise to stay there for months, the pain, both physical and mental, staying there for much longer. It's not like I wasn't the only suicidal pea in the can. No, my sister was on the same road. But the only thing that was different was she was met with reassuring words and therapy, anti-depressants, support. I found out today that my mother said if she knew she was going to have me, she would've ripped out her own uterus. Blood is thicker then water my ass. Those friends who helped me through? We don't even talk anymore. They carry on daily life as smoothly as they would if I was there with them. They didn't care, if they did they would've still been able to see I still get that feeling when I'm around knives or blades, I still stare at my now fully healed and scar-less wrist, I still crave that release from life that was gifted to me every time my blood hit the ground. They only helped me and befriended me to seem like good people. This world is fucked up for people like me, those who have given up in trying to be in Gods grace, preferring the Devils temptations because we've been in the darkness for so long we're comforted by it.