I'm not stable. I can tell that now. at first I wasn't quite sure at first if I was slipping but now I know that im gone. my medication is no longer helping me, not like it ever did. I don't know what to do. I cant tell anyone about this, they would put me back in the wicked asylum. I cant do that, I cant. I need to find a way to escape this cruel place. I need to leave but how. I don't want to stay here and get more pills and more meaningless therapy. I'm going to get out of here...someday I will get out of here.
* Day one *
this is the first day that I am writing in my journal, well other than the introduction. so where should I start, I guess I should say a little about myself. well my name is Abby and I am 16 years old. I am almost 5'7 and weigh about 125, but that's just a rough guess. I live in California with my mother, father, and little brother. my brothers name is Austin and he is almost 7 years old. I have long platinum blonde hair with a lot of colors in my hair. I have brown eyes and I am very pale. the way I dress is a little weird I typically wear skinny jeans and bands shirts all the time, even in summer. I am always wearing converse and will wear them all the time if I could. I also wear a lot of band bracelets and a lot eyeliner. I also go my lip and nose pierced a few weeks ago. I have had a problem dealing with the my mental state for a while. it started after the.. the accident. stop, I shouldn't called it an accident because he did it to himself. I have to stop trying to say that he didn't mean to do it. anyway, the.. acci- no, the suicide of my best friend , Ash, caused me to spiral out of control. the worst part was that I was there. he hung himself from his bedroom ceiling the day I was coming over to hang out like we always did on Fridays. when I opened the door to his bedroom all I could do was scream and cry. I eventually cut him down and laid him on his bed, his beautiful blue eyes were still open in shock. I.. I couldn't look at them but for his sake I shut them , kissed his cheek and told him I loved him one last time. I stayed with his body crying until his mom got home and I rushed the stairs mascara and tears running down my face. she went pale and dropped her bag squeezing me tightly as I sobbed harder then before. she to started to cry and we both sank to the floor and sobbed. she knew what happened I didn't have to tell her. she went upstairs shaking and sobbing to say bye to her son as I sat on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate, it was his favorite. I was shaking and silently crying and I heard her scream and drop to the floor. after she ambulance came (I called them when I cut him down) she came to me and looked me in the eyes and said that I was strong and brave to cut him down and close his eyes. when the ambulance carted him away his my took me home and told my parents what happened and that I could still come over if she wanted to. when I heard this I looked at her and asked her not to move his room around or empty it. she reluctantly agree gave me a big hug and kissed my head the way that he used to. I spend every afternoon in Ash's room and sometimes ended up sleeping in his bed. about a day or two after his death his mom asked me If I wanted anything of his. I ended up taking his band shirts and his bracelets and well as his jackets. he always let me wear his jackets. after that day I've been depressed and I have fallen victim to self harm and suicidal actions. I have had many therapist and many trips to the asylum. It has been a week or so since he died and it still feels like I just saw him hanging from his ceiling. I was told by my new therapist and my parents that I needed to start a journal everyday and frankly I am ok with having a place to vent my feelings and my emotions. So this is the start of an emotional and bumpy road to mental recovery... Or at least mental stability.
