I just finished cutting.
My first time in 2016.
There goes my New Year’s resolution.
I haven’t been taking my medicine. Partly because it’s inconvenient, and partly because I’m tired of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be fine without it. Sometimes I feel like I’m rebelling against it because I want to feel this way. I want to cut. I want to feel hopeless.
But other times…I just want to be normal. I want to be happy and laugh at the little things. Lately, laughing takes a whole lot of effort. Everything takes a whole lot of effort.
I’m trying to fill the hole in my heart with a man, but I’m not having much luck. Every time it seems like someone wants to be with me, their actions show that they are only interested in fucking me.
I suppose I’ll just continue feeling this way until I decide I want to be better.
There once was a girl. She was broken.
There once was a boy. He was beautiful.
This boy sparked something deep in the girl’s soul. Then he forgot about her.
Now she is…
As I sit in a restaurant waiting for my mother to return from getting money to pay for our lunch, I decided to write a little bit…
I haven’t had the courage or the time to write in the past few months. I have returned to school so my free time is filled with homework, sorority events, or rehearsal for theatre.
I had a tough week emotionally and mentally so the counselor in the emergency counseling center decided it was best I go home for the weekend.
I don’t trust you to keep yourself safe.
She would actually prefer that I leave school, but I’m NOT doing that again. I refuse.
I am supposed to be back and better than ever. Aren’t I?
It’s a process.
PS: The last time I wrote, my mother thought I was pregnant. I AM NOT PREGNANT. K bye.
Last night was quite eventful.
I was cutting to stop the voices as per usual, but after 10 minutes they hadn’t gone away. Then 15 minutes, then 20 minutes. I ended up in the bathroom, still cutting, but washing off the blood running down my arm so I could see where I hadn’t cut yet. The voices were only getting louder. I was so scared that I wasn’t going to stop that I went and woke my mom up.
A 20 year old needing her mommy to help her, pathetic? Maybe.
In tears, I told her I couldn’t stop because the voices were still screaming in my ear. She calmly took me to the kitchen and helped bandage me up. Very badly, but, hey, she was tired.
After bandaging me up with a gauze pad and several insufficient band-aids, we watched Glee until 2:30 in the morning. That was nice.
Now I’m going to lunch with my mom and step-dad. Hey, it’s free food. WOOHOO.
When your boyfriend is thinking of breaking up with you because he can’t handle your depression, one sits in bed trying not to slit their wrist.
When your stomach has been in knots all day waiting for your boyfriend to say you can come over to talk, one sleeps as much as possible so they don’t have to sit in agonizing pain.
When your boyfriend cancels on you, one wishes to cut so badly they can hardly breath.
When you can’t cut because it will make your boyfriend even more upset with you, one tries all sorts of ridiculous coping mechanisms trying to resist the strong urge to cut.
When you can’t suppress the darkness…one cuts.
I have these nights where the voices won’t leave me alone. Nights where I cut until they let me stop. Tonight, they made me cut for 20 minutes. The only reason they let me stop is because I ran out of room on my wrist.
They get angry when I try to get help or others try to help me. So asking for help is too hard. They get louder and louder until I can’t separate my thoughts from them.
I don’t want to die. But I do. I really do.
But I want to get married and have kids. I want to have a career. I want to see my baby’s first steps, their first tooth, their first day of school, and their graduation.
I want so many things. But right now it doesn’t seem that I’ll be able to get them because I won’t make it through this alive.
I guess I will just go to sleep and then wake up and do it all over again. I hate this.
People have been asking me why I’m depressed. I could list out all of the reason, but that would take awhile…I will try anyway.
When I was 6 years-old I was molested repeatedly by my “best friend”. His name was Jake (I think). He made me touch and put my mouth on his privates for months. One day I told a friend nonchalantly, then she told her mom who told my told my mom. Then the next thing I know we are in a different neighborhood where I have no friends.
During my freshmen year of high school, I had my first kiss with a boy named Sam (we will call him Sam). My friend Andie (we will call her Andie) was secretly in love with Sam so she turned all of our friends against me. I tried to remain under the radar because of all of this drama during my freshmen and sophomore years of high school.
On a cruise when I was 16, I lost my virginity to a guy in the ship. I cried. He was older. He also had a girlfriend. I didn’t know this encounter would change everything.
By the time I came back to the States, something had shut down inside me. I didn’t care who was inside me.
During my junior year, my friend Brent (fake name) killed himself by hanging himself in his closet. The summer before my senior year, my friend Kevin (fake name) killed himself also by hanging himself. I was in love with him. He was beautiful. I wish he could’ve known how much I cared about him before he did that to himself.
By then I was officially off the rails. I wanted nothing to do with “old-fashioned courtship”. I just wanted to feel affection from men. Which I got through sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Now that I am back home and out of school, I can say that I have had at least over 20 sex partners. I feel dirty. I feel disgusting. I want nothing but to slit my wrists and receive my dues as the true slut I am.
That is all I have to say. I’m sorry.