A time where I thought of ending my life.
I'm sure just about every teenager has thought about ending their life. I know I have several times and my life isn't even that bad! I know sounds stupid right? Well, I've had "stuff" happen in the past and it has affected me majorly now. It causes me to have thoughts and believe I don't matter. But I guess everyone has had those. No, I'm not saying that justifies my sucidial thoughts either.
Anyway, A time where I thought of ending my life. I need to talk about an interesting time. But my mother is on Wattpad and she reads this and she might feel bad. Maybe I should tell her NOT to read this.
Okay, whatever. If she reads this, she reads this.
I had a rough week at school. I failed two tests that I wasn't ready to take because I had missed about a week or two of school from being sick with pneumonia (walking pneumonia, to be exact). My teachers made me take them, saying I should have known the material but whatever. I was depressed that weekend after all the make-up work and feeling like some of my friends could care-less about me.
We live in a trailer, well actually two (we put them together). And our house isn't fit for "a king" as my father likes to say. It isn't the cleanest thing in the world. My mother tries to keep it clean but it's hard for her to keep it together and my brothers are lazy and they say they aren't cleaning it when it's just going to be messed up again. This year, I've stopped cleaning as much as I used to. I would clean it, turn around and it'd be messed up again. So, I'm sick of it. My father would grumble about how messy it is and he'd make a mess just like the rest of us! Hyprocrite!
Anyway, that weekend my father went off because the house was a mess. He was yelling, slinging stuff, and just be a monster, in my opinion. The funny thing is, we were working on the house at that moment. And he wonders why we don't clean up a lot and stay shut up in our rooms. Pff. (Sorry, It's just I love my father but I kinda dislike him. It's complicated and I really can't explain it seeing how everyone would be able to read this.) When my father goes off, my older brother gets mad and they end up arguing. When this happens, I start tearing up cause I know they will end up fist fighting and someone will get hurt (most likely my father). Dad will say, " The day we get in a fight, the day you will no longer be my son." Jerk. It's like he doesn't care about us but he just has us because it'd look bad on him if he doesn't keep us or whatever. It's just hard to explain. Then he'll threaten that if him and Jeffery get in a fight, he'll hit him with a pipe or two by four. Why would you say that to your son?
Back on topic, I got upset about it and ran out of the house. I ran to our woods and had our phone and was texting someone and they were like, "so?" About what I said. So forget them. I just was mad at my father for him getting mad, saying crap like that to us, and I just know too much that could be against him. I snuch back inside, grabbed a knife out of my room (not explaining that one), went back outside. I punched the gravel (that is in our driveway) with my fist making my knuckles bleed. I walked back out to the woods and screamed at the sky something about how nothing happens in my life except my father going off and me feeling like no one cares. I kicked a couple trees, and couldn't even cry! I hated it. My eyes only get watery but I never seem to slip a tear. I tried to cut my wrist but didn't get anywhere. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just kept thinking, "What would my mother think of me?" How would she see me? I couldn't do that to her because she'd blame herself and my father would just get mad at me, and who knows what my brothers would have done. And how could people physically hurt themselves? I mean yeah, I've hit myself in the head with books, slapped myself in the face, and punched the gravel in the driveway but only to snap myself out of being mad. But that's it. I couldn't bring like lots of blood or do something that I know for a fact would bring blood. I just couldn't. I don't know. I felt stupid for thinking that. I mean, would cutting my wrists really kill me? I guess, if I bled enough it would but I'm pretty sure someone would have found me before that happened, I think. So, I ditched the knife and set down and wallowed in my own pity. I called myself names and all kinds of stuff until my mother yelled for me and snapped me back into who I really was. I am not suppose to be someone who does that. So, I went back inside and acted like I just sat around waiting for it to be over. I mean, who'd tell their mother that they thought of killing themselves? Not me.
**I know this might sound stupid and all but this is the only one that I could think of at this moment. I knew if I didn't write something now, I'd chicken out later.***
(A/N Thanks for reading. :-)
