oct 16

I posted on reddit yesterday on the s*icide watch and it didn’t really help. I made a post about how I was thinking about ending it but that I would never actually go through with it because I could never do that to my family. It holds true – I would never do it. But the thought of doing it plagues me every day, and I think that I am started to lose a grip on my depression.

I don’t know – I used to write in my journal all the time. I used to write everything and anything I was feeling. I was very openly self deprecating  and verbally abusive to myself in those journals, because after writing about hating myself I would feel better. One day, when I was done writing in every page of one of those journals I threw it in the recycling bin and went on with my day. When I came home from school a day later, the journal was sitting on my desk. My mother had found it and read it. She didn’t say anything to me about it and I acted as if I hadn’t noticed – and then she brought up the awful things I said about myself during arguments and blamed me for my depression. This was when I was 14. I am 21 now, and I have put a filter on my thoughts in every entry since that moment. I don’t want to do it anymore.

I don’t want to use reddit either, because as much as I appreciate the kindness of strangers trying to help you through a rough patch, I don’t think I need a solution to my troubles. I don’t think I need someone to sit there and try to break apart and analyze every fucked up thing that happens in my life. I just want my words to be found in the aether. I just want someone to listen, nod, and go on about their day. I know that there are solutions. I just want to get it all out.

Lately I have been crying a lot. Lately I have been cutting myself. Lately I have been thinking about how disgusting I am – and then I snap back into it and get so angry at myself for not being happy and normal. For not appreciating the good things in my life. For not being able to tell people that I am suffering because I am so obsessed with this image that I have created for myself – an image of resilience and optimism, where in reality I am suffering, now more than I ever think I have suffered in my life.

I look myself in the mirror and think – wow. Look at that. Look at how disgusting they are. A college drop out, scrawny, ugly, vile thing. A fucking cry baby. And I get so upset, because I KNOW that if a friend came to me and told me all of those horrible things about themselves, I would be fervent and try to tell them that they are so precious and so loved. Why can’t I tell myself these things? Why can’t I be my own friend?

I truly do hate myself, I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t. I wish that I could be happy. I just want to let all of this self hatred go, and be happy.