First Blog Entry

And it's copied from a different site, named deviantART, just incase ANYONE wondered, I was offline because I was in a strife withmyself, and this is what happened so far....might be confusing.

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Well...the day I went offline was spend in a hazy little cloud, I remember getting a...little drunk, might be because of that.
I was....nervous all of the second day (and I mean nervous as in throwing up, coughing, headache, shaking, sweating, not being able to see straight and so on) , and then, in the night of day two to day three, well...I went through everything, every thought of the last year, my old diary entry's....everything. I decided it was best for me, and to those in my "real" life, to go, and I wasn't fully in control.
I...it's just hard to write what exactly I did, you know?
But I guess it's for the best (even though my judgment seems not to be working)
Let's just say I actually tried to kill myself, how exactly I did it, if you want to know, I answer notes.
But it seems sick to ....describe it.
That's what happened, and on day three I was in hospital again, my second home, around late afternoon they decided I should go back home again, unfortunately with my mother...and those of you who know me a little know what that means.
She told me just how little I'm worth again, too stupid t die even.
I guess you could say I had a mental breakdown in my room afterwards.
Whenever she's gone I sneak onto her computer, I tried to reach friends, but it's hard with out having her notice.
And if she does...if she catches me...I don't even want to think about it.
I am physically isolated right now, and until Wednesday, as you might know, that's when people will notice I'm missing again.
But "mommy" doesn't want me to talk to anyone, if I do, I could tell them what evil sin I committed and they might just consider it her fault.

Ahaha.
I.Love.My.Life.

She's so angry anyways because I'm moving out, but what does she expect?
She harassed me all her life.
I'm not her slave.
She never did anything against the bullies.
Mommy tried to kill me first.
Mommy said she's better off when I die.
Mommy said she loved me from the start.
Mommy is a liar.
I am a liar.
I am nothing.
I am dirty and weak.

If you believe her and the words that escape her unwashed mouth.

Don't tell me I was looking for attention when I let my close friends know why I might not come back for a week, or ever again.
I almost got a heart attack when I logged on from the hospital to see if those who matter were okay.

It wasn't the first time I tried to end it.
Absolutely not.
I wasn't asking for anything, and if you have nothing real to say, leave.

And no really, death is final? I had no idea whatsoever.
When I decided to die, I did it because I wanted to be gone.
I didn't want to see tomorrow, next year, the rest of my life.
I wanted all that death would provide, and that is nothingness.
To be gone, not to be bothersome anymore, not be an annoyance anymore.
Just to be dead.
And I was serious, deadly serious, if you get it.

I don't believe in heaven, nor hell, and even if it exists, my sheer existence is a free ticket to hell.

When someone who is serious about suicide comes to me (and there are a lot) and asks me what they should do, and why life is worth living, I tell them something along the lines of :

"You can always recover from an emotional trauma, but you can't recover from death"

I'm the last person whom you've got to tell that.
It's not like I was bored and decided to go kill myself because it's trendy.
You don't know me, at all, if you think like that.

Now on to day four, when I was back a little more.
That was the day when I fell back into being my five year old self.
The one that was locked into it's room, full of rage, so full of rage, too much to handle for my tiny self.
You know what I did?
After screaming so much that my throat was raw and I wasn't able to breathe without a coughing fit, I crouched into my favorite, safe corner and went numb, I know that I hit my head against the wall, over and over until I felt warm and fuzzy. I remember just falling asleep, never doing it strong enough to pass out, too scared of what might happen, and I was just...so tired....
I know I sometimes would touch my head where it was so warm, finding my hair to be wet and sticky, pulling my hand back to find my fingertips painted in a pretty red.
The nicest shade of red that I know of.

When I woke up, I usually became very angry with myself, I'd hit myself.

So guess what I did?

I hit and hit and hit. Never strong enough.
And now?
Well, let's say I type pretty fast and clean for somebody who can only use one arm properly now.

This is quite long already.

Okay, I'll end it soon, I just feel sickly urged to justify my life (and death) decisions.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm alive and I stay alive, even if it's just for Naomi, Beth, Laina (spell check want's to convince me your name doesn't exist) and some who's real names are too long, and who's usernames are so hard to memorize.

I asked one of you to help me with my life story.
I'll tell you as much as I remember, and it will be rushed and senseless and hard to understand, but hey, I'm just scared.
I hope you'll help me. I need help.

Chances are that it's over in January, well, the torture from my mom, some idiot decided I should spend a merry Christmas with her, but I'll be safer then because I'll have friends over.
I just hope my birthday won't result in "well deserved punishment" again.
Yes, yes, some hope is left.

I'm actually quite hopeful, just quite factual, too.
And as a matter of fact, if you are completely honest with yourself, you know that when you say "Life goes on, just have some faith" you also know that the world and life will go on after someone has died.
I know it does.
One close (and real life) friend of mine committed suicide, I know it was hard, it almost drove me insane, but I went on.
Both my Grandparents from my mothers side died.
I was wrecked, but I went on.
Life went on.
Death became a part of life, something that happens eventually, something you can choose.
I didn't come to that conclusion myself, it's what I learned from life when I was eight, when I was nice, turned ten, became eleven, twelve and thirteen.

You know....the fist time I ran away I was six, I survived two weeks actually, I'm still proud of myself, from nine/ten - twelve I was just....numb. I learned to become completely invisible in a room with people in it.
I taught myself to be absolutely silent....
But my will to live went with my rage, until it returned full force when I was eleven, and then I banned it until I got fourteen....which was this year.
Of course I didn't include everything in that time-line, too much happened, and I'd be happy for a boring life.

Okay, I have to eat something or I'll starve.

~Joy