I'm Laughing At My Own Jokes

Chapter Twelve: Who I've Become

A year and a half ago, I would shut myself away from this project, say that my life isn't interesting. You know why? Because I hated myself so much and wanted to kill myself so much and held it all inside. I didn't openly tell a single person. No one really knew. I cut both arms, from my elbows to my wrists. I burned myself once, but never did it again, for an unknown reason since I craved it so much after that. The internet was my only way to escape my own horrifying mind. I remember constantly thinking about how it would feel to overdose or to blow my brains out. I always wondered how much it would hurt, if I would regret it, if anyone would care. I would think about people who I was friends with, but only talked to in class, what their reaction would be. Would they cry? Would they even care?

It took me so long to escape this person who could barely glance at a razor without wanting to cut. It started in January 2014 and ended, at least for now, in March or April of 2015. A year and three months. I'm not sure how I managed to never get caught with the cuts on my arms. There were times when I was sure I'd gotten caught, but I don't think I ever got caught. If so, no one told the counselor.

At one point, early on in this phase, maybe February 2014, we had a mental health presentation in health class. At the end, the presenter asked if anyone wanted to talk to a counselor. I said yes. They called me into the counselors office. A women, not the counselor, talked to me. She said she would check up on me about once a week for a while. She said she would call me into the office during study hall or band. I waited a week. I never got called in the rest of the year.

I was never happy until April. I had somehow convinced myself that I wasn't so bad. I think part of it had been how considerate I had become since September 2014. Before that point, I was so angry and wanted other people to feel how I did. It was during Connor's charity video that I decided that everything I was doing was wrong.

To this day, every time I see someone wearing a shirt that's too tight or a revealing dress, anything that I wouldn't do really, my first thought is, "Eww, cover it up! No one wants to see that!" and I immediately feel guilty. I correct myself and think, "That's what they want to do, so they can do that, they rock that!"

I grew up with very judgmental parents. I had grown up hearing this from them and began to think that way too. I grew up making fun of people and I'm ashamed of it.

Anyway, probably in like April, I convinced myself that I wasn't as bad as I thought and everything started looking up. It was when I read Connor Franta's autobiography that I really decided to get better, to be as creative as I wanted, to be who I wanted to be. I've been happier this month than I've ever been. It was all just deciding to take that step to get better. It made me really open my eyes.

I still, everyday, have to tell myself that I'm not worthless, that one day I'm going to do something that'll mean something, that I don't mess up any more than the next guy. It's one of the hardest things, looking in the mirror and not liking what you see. I hate the gap between my teeth, I hate the way my mouth looks when I smile with my mouth open, I hate the way I care so much about what others think of me. Like the guy who sits in front of me on the bus. He hates me. It's pretty obvious. And every time I see him, I wonder what I did or if it's the way I look or act. I start thinking about all the things I hate about myself and convince myself that he hates me, because I'm worthless. Same thing every time I turn around and see half of the school.

I hate it. I have no reason to try to impress anyone. Not the kid in front of me on the bus, not the kid behind me in English, not anyone, but it's just this constant nagging in my mind.

I am a better person today than I have ever been. I'm working on realizing that not everything is my fault. I'm working on realizing I can't fix everything.

That's part of the reason why I love Supernatural so much. Dean hates himself, he feels like he can only trust himself, feels like he has to save everyone. I can relate to that. I understand how he feels. He has this deep hatred for himself. Every evil being on the earth hates him, but it doesn't compare to his hatred for himself. I feel like so many more people hate me than what's accurate, but the hatred I imagine everyone feels for me, doesn't compare.

I hate myself more than anyone, but I'm fixing myself one day at a time. I know this can't last forever.