I feel broken. I don’t want to live anymore.
I’m actually begining to think about suicide again.
I haven’t actually made plans to kill myself in a few years, but…
I don’t want to deal with life anymore. I can’t. I don’t have the energy or strength.
I’m so fucking tired of being a “Survivor”.
I want to either be alive, or die.
I want to feel alive.
I’ve never attempted suicide.
Well, not really.
I was living with my mom in her disgusting “home” when I had a really bad mental breakdown.
I don’t remember where my mom was, it was just me and my sister there when it happened.
My sister was in my mom’s room when I walked into our room, and saw a knife sitting on my dresser.
Why it was there, I don’t know, but it was there.
I thought to myself, “I don’t have to suffer anymore, I can just end it here.”
I snatched my note book and a pencil and wrote my suicide note. At this point tears were silently streaming down my face.
I laid my notebook with the note on my bed, grabbed the knife and got down on my knees in front of the dresser, pressing the knife against my throat.
I was about to apply more pressure and drag it across when I hesitated.
I glanced over at the wall separating me and my sister.
I remember thinking “She’ll be the one to find my body. What if she takes it as it’s okay for her to kill herself?”
I knew my sister was suffering just as much as I, and it wouldn’t be fair for her to see me take the easy way out.
Then she’d have to suffer alone. Without anyone.
So I got up, got rid of the knife and threw away the note.
I sat silently in my room until my mother got home.
Now, I just don’t care.
My life is such a mess, it always has been. Right when I think it’s all fixed and my home may become permanently stable, something happens and it all goes outta wack.
I think it’s all finally caught up to me. It hit me. Hard.
My aunt and grandma snapping at me was just the trigger.
School, my dad, my mom, my aunt, grandma, their expectations, my expectations, their lies, my trust issues, my no longer dormant depression and anxiety, maybe other mental issues….
I’m struggling to see a bright side. I used to be so good at that.
I used to be so happy, so unburdened. So confident.
I’m so tired of pretending to be her still.
I’ve got dark circles under my eyes, my face is a mess from acne and blackheads, my minds a mess, my heart and emotions broken.
Yet, my pride won’t let me die.
I’m not a very prideful person, but I don’t want to be known as another kid who killed herself.
I want to make a name for myself, I want to write my autobiography and be known as the girl who survived all that. Survived her mentally and emotionally abusive family and made it out alive.
I want to be known as a surviver, but I’m just so, so tired of surviving.
I’m cracking, dying. I’m breaking under all this weight.
I just wish I could be alright. Remember what it’s like to be alright.
I want mental help. I want to go to counseling, but it just isn’t worth it.
It’ll cause more problems, they won’t see me as perfect anymore.
I’ll be another broken girl, they won’t believe me anyways.
I want to either run away, get away, or die.
Running away, I’ve been told, isn’t any better than my home.
Getting away, I’ve still got four years before I’m old enough to escape to college, but I’m starting to think my grades will begin to fail soon. I’m starting to no longer care. Or believe I can actually make it.
Death is really starting to look like my only option.