Depressed Todoroki angst

1. Dear Diary

'Dear diary,

I think I'm going to kill myself.. '

I stare at the notebook that lay in front of me, clicking my pen as I think. The slightest chill runs through my spine as I re-read those words. This is the first time I have ever expressed this, even if it's only writing on paper.

"How did I even get here?" I silently mumble to myself inbetween racing thoughts.

Pressing the tip of my pen to the lined paper, I begin to write again.

'... I have no purpose here. Nothing ever changes. Every day is an endless loop of loneliness and depression. What is the point of even trying anymore? I'm done. I'm truly done. I'm done with this fucked up world, and I'm done with this empty, pointless life I live... '

I set the pen down and lean back in my chair, rereading what I've written. This is probably the best I could have put it. It's such a difficult thing to express, it feels near impossible to put words to this feeling. And this journal is the only one who knows I feel this way.

While yes, I have a therapist, it feels like I can never truly be open with her. I'm fully aware that they're mandatory reporters, and I don't want to be put in a psychiatric hospital. It'd only make me want to die more. Not to mention I know my father would act like a psycho over it. I have him fully convinced that I'm fine, not that he'd believe me if I did tell him I'm on the verge of killing myself. He's a narcissist, I'm sure nobody's problems could matter as much as his. Not in his mind.

*sigh*

I look out my open bedroom window as a light breeze brushes against my skin. The September air is crisp and refreshing. Orange and yellow leaves rustle in the wind, it's beautiful really. I wish life could be as beautiful as the earth itself is. But no, that's an unrealistic wish. The world is fucked up, and the society we live in is even worse.

My question still stands however.. How did I get here--to this fucked up headspace? I suppose it all started with my childhood. Everything that sick fuck I call my father did to this family. He hurt me, he hurt my siblings, and he hurt my mother. He took her away from us. I will forever resent him for that. He's mentally ill, I know that.. but I don't care to be honest. Everyone tells me to forgive him because he's the only father I'll have.. truthfully I'd rather not have a father at all than forgive him. He doesn't deserve forgiveness, and he'll never get it from me.

That's only the half of it, but I know that's where it all began, so at least I have that much sorted out.

I fold my diary shut and walk over to my closet, shoving the notebook in between some old books on the top shelf. It's less suspicious this way, it just looks like an old sketchbook or something.

Before long I flop down on my bed, I can't help but feel exhausted. Physically and mentally. With a deep breath, I cuddle up to my pillow and close my eyes.