This is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and that's because I've never told anyone how I really feel... I always lie and say I'm fine or I'll be okay eventually. To tell you the truth when I'm sad, half the time I don't even fucking know why. It could be because I think about the mistakes I made in the past, or the ones I might make in the future. It could because every hour of everyday all that runs through my head thoughts about how I could of possibly fucked something up if I did something different or if I made one wrong move. I wake up EVERY night because of the same fucking nightmares, and because of this I'm afraid to go to sleep. The only reason I do is because I know I need sleep to survive, and because I'm not fun when I haven't slept in three days. I become pissed at people for no reason and I lash out...I hurt people which is something I hate doing and something I'm terrified of doing because I don't want to hurt people... Speaking of fears I've noticed I have a lot more than I say I do. I tell people that I'm only scared of like two things: fire or anything hot, and crowded places. That's a lie, I mean I am scared of those two things, but they aren't the only things I'm scared of. I'm scared of: being alone (Autophobia), being forgotten (Athazagoraphobia), being loved or loving someone (Philophobia), hurting people, trusting people (Pistanthrophobia), becoming angry (Angrophobia), fire (Arsonphobia), failing (Atychiphobia), confined spaces (Claustrophobia), being laughed at (Gelotophobia), etc. Honestly the more I think about it, the more I realize I just a big wimp who scared of every little thing. It's annoying, and I hate it. I go to school everyday and pretend to be just fine, then I come home and I cry and think about dying because it's not like anyone needs me around anyways.
I hate myself. I know that I do, I don't think there's ever been a time that I can remember when I didn't hate myself. There have been days where I wake up a regret breathing because of how much I hate myself. I've learned how to live with hating myself, and I know it's not ideal but I don't know how to live myself. Everyday I wake up and pretend to be happy. I don't self harm because then people will know I'm not okay and I don't want people to know I'm not okay. I don't cry in public because I don't want to seem weak. I don't talk about my feelings because I don't want people to know how I actually feel and hate me for it. Even writing it down for people to read is, like I said before, hard.
I don't know what it means to be truly happy. I mean I've been happy before but not without feeling sad or angry over top of the happiness. If you saw me at school with my friends and my boyfriend, you may say that I look happy, or you may ask how the hell I could possibly be sad. You may say that everything I'm writing about is a lie, but it's not. I will admit the my boyfriend and friends do make me happy, but it's not enough to replace this constant sad, angry, or scared feeling I constantly have. I think about getting high and forgetting everything bad that's ever happened to me a lot. I've never gotten high though, admittedly it's because I can't find anyone who sells weed. I ashamed of this, not the never getting high part, but the fact that I think I have to be high to be happy. I know somewhere deep down that I don't but the rest of me is screaming that I do.
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
You probably want to know why I'm so unhappy and depressed and shit, or you don't. Well I started becoming more and more unhappy last summer before I entered my Freshman year of high school. I started smoking thinking it was gonna help, and it did for a while but then I had to stop because my boyfriend, Nathan, at the time found out and got pissed at me for it so I stopped for his sake. There was a lot of other things going on at the time so my mom didn't find out until later on after I had stopped, and she only found out by accident. One weekend Nathan was spending the night at my house because he was helping us move. It was Saturday and we were upstairs in my little sisters room folding up her clothes. He was being quieter than usually so I asked him what was wrong. He said that he didn't want to talk about it, so my mind immediately went, "It's your fault asshole." I asked him if it had something to do with my family and he said no. After that we didn't really talk about it until later. My family had left to go drop off stuff so it was just him and me at the house. I was becoming really paranoid that whatever was wrong was my fault, but I didn't want to ask and piss him off. So instead I paced around the house and eventually while Nathan was sleeping, I grabbed a knife out of the drawer in the kitchen and tried to cut myself. I never succeeded because I was too scared to. I tried to wake him up and tell him but he wouldn't so I gave up and laid down next to him. I was shaking really badly and because of that he woke up and asked me why. I couldn't talk so I didn't say anything. He kept asking me and eventually started crying. I tried to show him by making cutting motions across my arm but I don't think he understood. Eventually I found my words and then continuously said, "I'm sorry," "I love you," and "Help me." over and over again. While this was going on my grandma and sisters had apparently come back because my sister came inside and told us to get our shoes on to go somewhere. We didn't move so she came in again and said the same thing but added that if we didn't that my grandma was gonna come and drag us outside. Nathan went to go talk to her and tell her what was going on, but she didn't believe him. I got mad and went out there and started screaming at her, the rest is a blur, but I remember my mom coming home and yelling at me, me yelling at Nathan not to leave me, hitting my mom and running, then calling the police an being sent to a mental hospital... I was in Streamwood (the mental hospital) for about a week I think before coming back to school. Once I came back things didn't get better. I acquired a phone I wasn't supposed to have, Nathan broke up with me, I stole from Walmart, pierced my ears by myself, and almost got sent to a military school. After a few months things eventually got better, but I still have recurring nightmare about it and I'm terrified of making mistakes and talking about my feelings now... I don't want to get sent back to that hell hole.
But yeah anyway....that's why.
So I guess I should probably talk about how I really feel 99% of the time because that's what this stupid thing is for. It's simple really...I want to fucking die, or hurt myself really, really badly. I feel like shit, I'm never ok, I HATE the fact the i'm NEVER fucking happy. I smile fake smiles, and laugh fake laughs. I breathe when I shouldn't be breathing, and walk when I shouldn't be walking. I should be six feet under with people spitting on my grave. I don't deserve the friends and boyfriend that I have, they are too good for a piece of shit like me. I want to be happy, but I know I don't deserve to be...I deserve death, and I deserve to go to hell. Eventually karma will catch up to me and I won't be on this god forsaken planet anymore, or I'll just go on with living hoping that one day things will get better. I always tell people things will get worse before they get better...maybe I should take my own advice and just hope for the best. Anyways I'm done with this shit until I decide to vent some more. Bye...
