Not anymore.
But, I'm still hurting.
I don't know when it'll stop.
I don't think it will.
I need someone.
I need you, but you don't want me anymore.
The thing that hurts the worst is that I was right. I let you convince me otherwise, but I was right in the end.
Fuck, I should know not to get my hopes up about things by now.
As if I needed more proof against living.
So, where do I go from here?
I need someone.
Anyone.
No one wants me, though.
I have a week left.
I can't believe where this has gone.
I still love you.
So much.
And it's killing me that you don't feel the same.
Charlie Brown got it right.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
And I'm hanging on for dear life.
My grip is so tight, my knuckles are turning white, and I'm turning blue from holding my breath, and I've got red all down my legs and black under my eyes.
This is turning out to be the saddest rainbow I've ever seen.
I'm losing sleep and I'm losing my mind.
Having another Esther Greenwood day.
And I lie.
I lie because if I don't, this distance will become worse, and walls and fences and blocked off bridges will start to form, and I don't think I could handle that.
And it's me. I can't stop it. I can't fix it. I can't do anything.
Because I don't know how.
I'm falling apart at the seams.
I should have known the slightest tug would leave me unraveling.
Diving before knowing how to swim... It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Here I am, laying in bed with my best friend in the whole world.
We're chitting and chatting and having fun together.
I looooooooooooooooooove her.
She's the best.
Mhm. We look like this all the time.
I can't tell my friend.
She got so upset last time.
She said I had to tell.
I can't do that.
It will ruin everything for them.
I just can't.
And it was dark, and it was something. It was comfortable, and I was sleeping, but they all begged me to wake. "Just let me sleep," I asked of them. "Just let me lay and be."
And it was heavy, and it was empty. It was lonely, and I was content, but they were trying to yank me away. "Let me stay," I requested with earnest. "Just leave me by myself."
And it was quiet, and it was loud. It was music to my ears, and I was listening, but they tried to take away the sound. "Just let it play some more," I said. "Let it play forever."
And it was cold and it was smooth. It was loaded and I was ready, but still they made attempts. "Just let me take care of myself," I pleaded of them. "Let me have this forever."
And it was dark, and it was something. It was still, and I was sleeping, and they finally let me be. "Just know that I'm content," I whispered. "Know that I'll be fine now and forever."
For now.
I have so many things going on inside my head.
I want so badly to express myself.
I can't. I just can't.
My dad is going to begin taking me to my psychiatrist appointments.
It's fantastic.
My mother is in denial.
She doesn't want to deal with it.
It wasn't fixed in the first two appointments, so it must not be working.
My dad understands better.
At least, I hope.
I'm no longer going to the therapist, because she is not on our new insurance.
I don't know how to feel about that.
I want to hurt myself right this moment.
Not to feel pain.
I want to see blood.
Lots of it.
I want to see my blood running down my arms, my legs.
I want to hit a vein, and bleed until I pass out.
I want so badly to see red.
I feel helpless.
I can't see it getting better.
I can't see it at all.
That scares me.
That makes me think I'm going to die, whether it be by my own hand or not.
The dying doesn't scare me.
The hurt my family and friends will feel does.
I'm sorry.
I have two days left to decide if I really want to see seventeen.
At this point,
I'm not sure.
I assume everyone is like me.
So, why do I keep hurting people?
Monster monster.
I don't get it.
I went for so long having good days.
Two weeks, and I was feeling great.
Now, all of a sudden, I'm just done with everything again.
It's been a week.
I've been upset every single day of that week.
Why me?
Why this?
the razor, heavy in my fist.
Indecision lining every thought,
blood lining my wrist.
I've made mistakes, that I can see,
and decisions I don't regret.
I've made lines that fade to nothing,
and marks I won't forget.
There's something about living life,
something that makes it tough.
But, to take the decision in your own hands,
to decide when you've had enough?
I've made choices, bad and worse.
I've made friends who aren't much better.
I've formed words and lines with hurt,
and drawn pain into each letter.
I keep a bottle of pills on hand,
and dream of swallowing them all.
But, things just aren't bad enough yet,
I haven't quite hit that wall.
Rest assured, when that day comes,
I'll be gone before you can blink.
I'll confirm it's useless to live in this world,
no matter what anyone thinks.
Where has my self control gone?
230.
That's the magic number, so far.
That number has destroyed my day.
I hate this back and forth.
I had control over the number, deepness of lines.
Then I just had control over the numbers.
Then I had control over how long I spent in the bathroom with the door locked.
Now I'm back to the control of deepness and number of lines.
But, I want it all.
I want it all at once.
I'm no looking for attention.
I'm not punishing myself, per se.
Tomorrow, I will not eat.
I just want to know that I can still do it.
I'm so ready for everything to be over.
What's wrong with this picture?
I'm taking the medicine.
I'm forcing myself to get out of the house more.
I'm going to my appointments.
When do I start to feel better?
When do I stop wanting to die?
What am I doing wrong?
It feels so strange to be wanting it constantly.
I started cutting myself again.
I had gone for more than six months without doing it, and here I am, razor in hand.
I am such a fucking downer.
Sometimes, I really hate myself.
Sorry I never have any good things to share... I'm not such a fun person, obviously.
I mean, I'm fixing it now. I'm getting help, I'm on medication, I'm trying to get myself more active, socially.
But, still. I really messed it up.
I've distanced myself from everyone. I'm not interested in seeing people, or hanging out, or talking even.
I've let myself think it's okay not to care about school.
I don't have a job, because I'm afraid.
And, the funny thing about it, is that I've only just come to realize how completely screwed I've become.
The worst thing is the people.
I have friends, sure. But, none of them are close.
I don't tell secrets.
I have no secrets to tell.
I'm boring, and people mistake that for secretive.
But, now I'm just kind of the background character. Girl in Hallway #12.
The white noise in daily conversations.
And, the thing is, I'm not sure I want to be more than that.
I'm perfectly content being in the shadow for now.
But, I know that if I remain this way, I'll never make something of myself, and I'll die, and it will eventually be as though I've never existed.
And, as determined as I am to live as no one, I want so badly to die as someone.
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