A few days ago I went to the doctor who diagnosed me with anxiety I lied about not trying to kill myself, of course I've tried, I didn't want them to spread it to my mother. But I did tell them about the voices I hear in my head calling me to come over.
I went downstairs in the afternoon to be greeted by, I wish he wasn't, my brother. I loathed my brother, his name is Matthew in case you're wondering, and his idiotic boyfriend, yes, he's gay.
He somehow found out about me hearing things and repeatedly asked me what they were saying today in a bugging, annoying, manor while smirking as if it was all a joke. I realize he doesn't give a damn about me, so I don't give a damn about him.
He kept bugging me and my anxiety pills began to wear off so I became sad and started to cry after running into the bathroom and shutting the door while leaning against it. Now, you may not know this, but I have very sharp nails and star shaped mirrors with sharp edges. I pulled up my sleeve and began violently scraping at my wrist, I then lifted up my pyjama bottoms and did the same with my idiotic legs.
It still hurts to this very moment but I don't care. It's not like I deserve to live anyways.
People online keep telling me to calm down, relax, don't worry about it. But their typed up words can't heal my emotions or any of my physical wounds. I wish I would just die, slowly and painfully....
I'm cutting it short here today, get my pun there? So
Bye
I guess...
