After Senior Year.

Tuesday: September 1st, 2015

*Trigger warning*

I've been telling everyone that I'm going to get help now. I tell them that it's because I've helped myself as much as I can and that I need unbiased help now. It's fucking scary though. It's not true. I know why I want to try. I know why I want to. It's not why I keep saying. It's terrifying. I realized the other day that I could do it. I always told everyone that I would think about it so often, but deep down I would never have the strength to do it. Even when life was actually pretty fucking bad for me, I didn't actually think that I could do it. For some reason lately, things just haven't felt right. Nothing is bad, at least when it meets the eye. Perhaps this is one of the true definitions of a disorder. I have no reason to feel how I do and I try and try to fight, but it's tearing me apart from the inside out. In all honesty, I don't even feel alive anymore. That's why I could do it. As long as it was quick and easy. I could kill myself. It would be over and the world would go on and the suffering would be over. I feel like a robot. I'm proud of myself one minute and being told I a bitch the next. That's nothing though. People go through worse things. I just need to get help. I told my mom the other day that I have never felt loved. She said she knew and that she was sorry. My Aunt is the one who raised me though, and I told her as well. She yelled at me. She didn't understand what she did wrong. That's the thing though isn't it? She didn't do anything wrong. I just wish she'd understand my feelings to help me progress. I feel like I can't do this on my own, but I think I have to. My family won't ever truly work with me. To them, I am broken and it's all my fault. I made myself this way. Maybe I did? So why the fuck am I even here? I could easily do it.