There are people who say they can help me through medication and talking about my feelings. Was I raped?
No.
Was I abused physically?
No.
Verbally?
Only outside of the home.
All these questions..all these supposed cures...There's no cure for other peoples expressed thoughts about me. All you can ever feel is the spiked pain of darkness that follows you around while having to put on a mother fucking forced smile and go on making everyone who doesn't know the truth believe you're okay.
* * * *
I wrote this on my last suicide attempt nearly a year ago. If my little sister hadn't come home early that day, I wouldn't be here today.
My uncle once told me suicide is a selfish thing to do. Some people who commit suicide don't consider the feelings of people who care most about them.
He once thought about committing suicide but didn't because he knew I would need him one day since he was one of my only father figure.
That's when I was three. I'm almost 18 and he's been there the whole way.
So to my uncle, I thank you.
~VivAEnpe(JKPF)
