Make Me Wanna Die

This is just a tiny entry that I put up for my sake, I guess. I woke up this morning like I do a lot. I’ll wake and forget where I am, and start freaking out. I sometimes even try to make up a story. Then, I look down at my arm and see the scars and remember that everything wasn’t a dream. Half the time I just burst into tears before getting in the shower. I can’t take my jacket off, or people will see. That truth scares me more than it should, I think. The scars are ruling my life. I’m not even able to wear short sleeves... I can’t take my jacket off in gym class. I’ve been listening to one song from Papa Roach called Scars and my favorite quote is “Our scars remind us that the past is real.” It’s so true. I wish I could pretend nothing happened. I wish I could just block it out like I block everything else out, but I can’t. The fact that I’m living with my grandparents and they shove my father down my throat makes it impossible. It hurts, so bad. I end up falling asleep by staring at my scars for hours. I would cry, but my meds make that almost impossible. I feel like crying, but the tears just won’t come out anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want to move in with my mother. My therapist and social worker both think it’s a bad idea. Heck, even I believe it’s a bad idea. But I don’t really have much of a choice. I got into trouble for just writing this. I was told not to show anyone because it would make my father look bad. Just because my grandmother doesn’t want her ‘precious son’s’ image to be tainted by my story. Well, quite frankly, the fact that she doesn’t want it seen, makes me want to show everyone. Well, this entry wasn’t as tiny as I thought it would be. I’m going to class now.