Status: Back and running!
Speak the Truth, Even if Your Voice Shakes
12
I don't have a reason to be depressed. I wasn't molested or abused or raped. I wasn't traumatized or unloved. When I was a kid, what age I can't recall exactly, I was doing math (I'm homeschooled) and I was unable to add 6+8 in my head, so I went into the kitchen, grabbed the steak knife, and told myself I would stab myself in the chest if I didn't figure out the answer right then. I decided it was 14 and put the knife back, unfazed. Another thing I did at a younger age was whip a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest to death, chasing it around the yard as it feebly tried to escape. When I was really little, my 2-years-older brother and I would feel each other up. It was a game. It was a secret, but it wasn't BAD, I thought. I don't know how that started, and I don't know how it ended. I only know it happened.
I was in a psych ward for almost 5 months earlier this year. For being suicidal. I had a plan to OD, but I had said bye to my friends, and they said something to my parents, and I was interrupted. My hover-y mom slept right outside my room that night. I went in to the hospital the next day.
I got worse then desperate then calmer in there. I had so many ideas of killing myself. But I know deep down that I only tried the ones that I knew wouldn't really work. I'm coward. I tried to strangle myself in the handle of a bag. I just writhed on the ground, letting it tighten on my neck. There were no hooks high enough up, you see. I know what would've been more effective. Metal in an electrical socket. Metal wasn't readily available in the ward, but you could find it, if you tried. It's not impossible to escape. It's just very difficult, and impossible to stay escaped. Police station around the corner, security cameras everywhere. The window in my room was loose. I almost did it—the perfect escape—but no. The screws wouldn't all unscrew. It would have been beautiful.
Finally, I broke. I just wanted to get out, to go home. I promised to do anything my parents wanted from me to get out. I was surprised it worked. I was lying through my teeth.
I have horrible mood swings now. The happier I am one moment, the more depressingly miserable I am the next. I'm afraid to be happy, in case it triggers that terrible empty feeling.
I forget. I forget my feelings easily. Thoughts, I can recall like that, but feelings just slip away. So sometimes I want to be depressed, but I can't remember how horrible it feels, unless I add a thought. I remember thinking how awful it feels, and how it's so cruel to keep someone so depressed, but not QUITE to the point of suicide. There is no escape. It is so much easier to have the option of death—and I'm not just assuming, I have been there—than the not-quite-there-yet pre-suicidalness.
I know this is long, and I apologize for that, but I need to say some things. I just need to. Because people don't understand. People think I'm happy, and talkative, and have great expectations of me. My family sees the flip side of that, where I am impatient, angry, moody, and difficult. Most of the time they say I'm just faking it, and lying.
But I know they love me. Telling me that my parents love me changes nothing. I mean, what are you trying to do? Guilt trip me into being less depressed? Are you insane?
Look at me, loved, in a good family, "cool", "talented", a little ungrateful brat.
Here are the things I know: I am ugly, fat, awkward, craven, jealous, envious, not good enough, not as good as them, not trying hard enough, immoral, attention-seeking, obsessive(mostly over british tv series), really fucking emotional, and the girl with no future. I'm also sort of obsessed with gays…I want to be gay, but I kinda want to be a gay guy. I asexual towards people (except my friend Abbey/Adam, and MCR), so I don't know what I am, really.
Also,
I'm horrified of The Nothing that lies in wait for me
I hate that doctors call them superficial scratches
I want to lie just so I can get the pity I sometimes crave
I am too afraid to cut properly—I just "scratch" and it makes me angry
But it also makes me numb.
I was in a psych ward for almost 5 months earlier this year. For being suicidal. I had a plan to OD, but I had said bye to my friends, and they said something to my parents, and I was interrupted. My hover-y mom slept right outside my room that night. I went in to the hospital the next day.
I got worse then desperate then calmer in there. I had so many ideas of killing myself. But I know deep down that I only tried the ones that I knew wouldn't really work. I'm coward. I tried to strangle myself in the handle of a bag. I just writhed on the ground, letting it tighten on my neck. There were no hooks high enough up, you see. I know what would've been more effective. Metal in an electrical socket. Metal wasn't readily available in the ward, but you could find it, if you tried. It's not impossible to escape. It's just very difficult, and impossible to stay escaped. Police station around the corner, security cameras everywhere. The window in my room was loose. I almost did it—the perfect escape—but no. The screws wouldn't all unscrew. It would have been beautiful.
Finally, I broke. I just wanted to get out, to go home. I promised to do anything my parents wanted from me to get out. I was surprised it worked. I was lying through my teeth.
I have horrible mood swings now. The happier I am one moment, the more depressingly miserable I am the next. I'm afraid to be happy, in case it triggers that terrible empty feeling.
I forget. I forget my feelings easily. Thoughts, I can recall like that, but feelings just slip away. So sometimes I want to be depressed, but I can't remember how horrible it feels, unless I add a thought. I remember thinking how awful it feels, and how it's so cruel to keep someone so depressed, but not QUITE to the point of suicide. There is no escape. It is so much easier to have the option of death—and I'm not just assuming, I have been there—than the not-quite-there-yet pre-suicidalness.
I know this is long, and I apologize for that, but I need to say some things. I just need to. Because people don't understand. People think I'm happy, and talkative, and have great expectations of me. My family sees the flip side of that, where I am impatient, angry, moody, and difficult. Most of the time they say I'm just faking it, and lying.
But I know they love me. Telling me that my parents love me changes nothing. I mean, what are you trying to do? Guilt trip me into being less depressed? Are you insane?
Look at me, loved, in a good family, "cool", "talented", a little ungrateful brat.
Here are the things I know: I am ugly, fat, awkward, craven, jealous, envious, not good enough, not as good as them, not trying hard enough, immoral, attention-seeking, obsessive(mostly over british tv series), really fucking emotional, and the girl with no future. I'm also sort of obsessed with gays…I want to be gay, but I kinda want to be a gay guy. I asexual towards people (except my friend Abbey/Adam, and MCR), so I don't know what I am, really.
Also,
I'm horrified of The Nothing that lies in wait for me
I hate that doctors call them superficial scratches
I want to lie just so I can get the pity I sometimes crave
I am too afraid to cut properly—I just "scratch" and it makes me angry
But it also makes me numb.
♠ ♠ ♠
Anonymous