I’m very sorry for any unfortunate soul that reads this atrocious blog. I really am. Especially since I really only seem to write when I feel out of control.
I tried to make a promise to myself.
I wasn’t going to cut until after band prom, since my dress doesn’t have sleeves.
Guess who’s going to be wearing a blazer over said dress now?
Of course, I think I scared my friends that went shopping with me. I was very reluctant to share a dressing room with them due to some still-healing cuts on my arms. Once they were urging me to try on the shirt I picked out, I thought ‘What the fuck’ and acted like the cuts were invisible.
I didn’t look at their faces. As soon as the shirt was on, it was back off and I was changing back into my other shirt. Then came the trying on of dresses.
I don’t think she meant anything other than what she actually said, but I couldn’t help but pick apart these few sentences one of my friends said to me: “You can wear a blazer over that[dress]- like for saxophone studio, even band prom.”
I took it as: cover up those scars. No one wants to see that.
It’s partially true.
I realize it makes most people feel uncomfortable. I don’t mean to upset them.
But I have a love/hate relationship with them.
I hate them because they represent my weakness, my hatred, my self-loathing, why I will never be good enough, why I am disgusting, and that I’m still alive.
I love them because they represent my strength, my will, my determination, and that I’m still alive. They fascinate me like how people are fascinated by murder stories. They’re disgusting, vile, and horrible, but they show so much about human character.
I seriously don’t mean to cause any disruption amongst the people here. Yes, I want them to take me seriously, but I don’t want them to be upset about my life or my decisions.
I see it as a logical answer. To most people, that sounds twisted, deranged, and sick. To me, it’s pure logic.
I honestly don’t have a will to live. The best thing I have right now is my dad. To be completely and 100% honest, he’s the only reason why I’m still alive today.
I live because he has lost so much.
A long time ago, we were driving down the interstate. He was taking us to school. He told us that if we weren’t here, he would have killed himself by now. He would have killed himself because our mom wasn’t alive anymore. He was so sad, so lost, he wanted to just be reunited with her and be found again.
He has called me a coward in the past for being suicidal.
Suicide is something I have been contemplating for 8 years now. That’s crazy.
Back then, it was cowardly. It developed. It never really left. I’ve always had problems. I either brush things off that I should consider more or I over analyze every situation. It’s two very different extremes. And when I put things off, they hit me once I begin the analyzing process.
People would back away if they knew what was to happen. If I were to commit suicide tomorrow, people would say that they never saw it coming. For most, this would be true. For a lot of others, they would shame existence to say such cowardly things. A select few would feel guilt and blame themselves.
I should be the guilty one. But at the same time, I don’t.
There’s only one person I know that has actually read this. I think that they only read it when I post about it on tumblr. Both times, they have reached out to me. But I can’t talk to them. I can say every exact thought here because this isn’t human, it’s only me, and I’m getting pretty far from human these days. My life is so insignificant.
“No it’s not! You’re so important to so many people! Think of all the lives you’ve touched!”
Okay, but not so much that if they never had me in their life, they would know what they were missing. Because there really wouldn’t be anything to miss. I see the world for what it is. I see that there are 7 billion people living on this planet and that while I have friends, while I have family, life goes on with or without you.
I miss those that have died in my life. Mostly my mom. And really, I’m just angry that she isn’t physically here for me. With me. She died when I was so young, I constantly wonder how my life would be different with her here. Would I be going through these trials right now? Would I listen with heartbroken contempt as my friends gush about their wonderful relationships with their mothers? Would I already be dead?
My sister, though she would be angry, I know she would eventually move past it. She has a life and future ahead.
He calls me most every morning. I try to sound like I’ve been awake, even though he wakes me up now. I lie when he asks. I live for those morning calls. They may not be the “best part of my day” or anything, but I live for them more so for the fact that….
How crushed would he be when he didn’t have his little girl to call every morning. That’s why I’m still alive. That’s why even though I google almost everyday of ways to kill myself and I have compiled quite an extensive list, I don’t follow through with any of my findings.
I don’t live for anything else. Just for the fact that I can’t break my dad’s heart. I can’t.
That man should be given a fucking medal.
I’ve been really into making friendship bracelets lately. I’ve made smaller ones for friends and such. They don’t take too long. The one I made for myself though, did. Many of my friends compliment my color choices, often making remarks about how it looks “Native American”.
There is so much symbolism behind this bracelet, it’s scary. So much. Every color has a very specific meaning to me.
I wonder if anyone will actually ask me about it sometime.
I wonder if I’ll actually answer it truthfully.
I lie about most things nowadays. It’s just easier.
It would be nice though to have some total, random person that I know but not enough for me to think they would really want to know much about why I chose some colors for a bracelet ask me about it.
If it was someone I would be expecting, I would lie. I would flat out lie or brush it off.
Someone random though, that I don’t feel like I have built and burned too many bridges with, I feel like I could tell.
I just wish that I could stop lying.
I’m done building bridges and burning them then building them again. I done trying to let everyone know I’m “fine” when I’m not.
This is not just another fire. This is a spark.
A spark that’s going to blow this whole damned citadel up.