Journal

Six

I was filled with rage, born of Ares himself, embodying his quick temper and unquenchable desire for conflict. Attention seeking and easily pleased with morsels of praise, I felt neglected at the time.

I was self destructive. I saw no reason to live. Stuck in interior monologues of worthlessness and the burdensome weight I bore my family, I saw reason to die and free my family. I was the problem and death my solution. In the words of my brother, I would be the reason for the death of my parents.

I grew the courage once to tie the knot in my hands and by the tree, to stand tall, one foot off the chair and the other too scared to move. The seed of courage grew more and I let myself free. My breath slowed, my vision blurred and started to vignette in my periphery and I counted the seconds.

One, two, three, four, five...

What if they come outside and see me like this? I don't want this to be my last image I leave them. Won't this be another expense Mum will have to pay? What if they don't play here anymore because I ruined it for them?

Five, six, seven...

It doesn't matter they don't even care, I don't matter to them like that. It's not that deep

Eight, nine, ten...

I won't be a problem for her anymore. She'll be free and be back on track with my siblings. I was a mistake anyway, I was never meant to be born.

Ten, eleven, twelve...

I wish I could have told my brothers bye, even if they didn't love me I loved the so much. But they'll be fine now, they won't have to take care of me anymore.

But I stepped back onto that chair scared that even in death I'd be scolded for wasting my mothers money. She could have been using the money to buy food for us, not for my funeral, how selfish. Ironically, this would be the last thing mum would ever have to pay in my name ever again, I used to wish I knew that then.

I wish I could go back in time to just give my younger self a hug, a kiss on the cheek and listen to her, because that's all she wanted and needed.

I was never taught to love myself, how to appreciate when I've done some good deeds nor how to be pleased with myself. I was only taught displeasure at my physicality and disgust with my actions. I was never good enough.

It started to manifest physically when I started getting panic attacks. I'd drag my nails across the skin of my thighs and forearms like I was digging, hoping to open my skin.

My brain worked in overdrive, thoughts of worthlessness working and pushing me. Suddenly my breathe came in short pants and quick sighs. Was I breathing properly? Why do I feel lightheaded? Why can't I breath? Am I going to pass out? Pain brought me back and kept me stable, I concentrated on the hurt in the presence.

I kept my nails short because if they were long I could leave marks and people would ask questions I couldn't answer.