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What’s wrong with me?
I should be happy, but I’m not. I don’t get it. People keep telling me that I have to do these things, and usually force me to, and I suppose being forced into having a scar removed even though it’s not medically necessary isn’t THAT bad, but… Just stuff against my beliefs. My most important ones.
I don’t understand how everything led to me becoming depressed.
Alright, I’ll tell you what I know.
Mom is a *****, dad doesn’t really care (but agrees), I’m not just saying that because I’m being childish and whatever. And well… I’ve never had any true friends, mom says she’ll try to understand but even when I tell her little problems she acts as if I’m a retarded little whiny 5 year old, it’s hard to explain exactly how she is. So I won’t.
I used to cut, I stopped after realizing how I was ruining my life, I won’t tell the doctors about it unless mom isn’t in the room, mom actually thinks I need therapy (which is amazing for her standards), I’m stressed and sad and have been sad constantly for about two years now. I don’t really care anymore. I’ve been suicidal every week or two for about a year… I just consider ending it all, and then I realize that maybe it will get better, but I’m never truly sure. But I survive anyway. I don’t want to die, yet I do. It’s frustrating.
I have no idea what I just typed. My memory really sucks… And I feel as if my thoughts are terribly slowed sometimes. They obviously are.
Mom acts like I’m being totally ridiculous when I won’t do some simple thing like trying on clothes, but really, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I feel so empty and cold and like I don’t have the energy and motivation. I try to get myself to, but… I’m like a zombie, just how I do things. I dunno. I can’t think of anything else at the moment, and I don’t entirely care. I want to murder mom, mom and dad, or myself. Whichever comes first, and whichever I cannot restrain myself from killing. Dad doesn’t deserve it, though… I dunno…
Oh. And I haven’t been outside in days, nor do I go anywhere. I find excuses for nearly everything, and sometimes the excuses are actually true. I fear that people will stare at me, which they do. I don’t want to be stared at. It makes me feel like even more of a freak.
This open post was written 2 months, 1 week ago | V/U/S: 92, 6, 5 | Edit Post | Leave a reply | Report Post
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