About the beginning of 9th grade, The amount of pain that I had bottled up just wanted to combust into an explosion of something. I wanted to cry like I had never cried before. I wanted to scream. I hated everything, I loved life, but wanted to die. Like. I just wanted an escape. Before you ask, no I didn't try to kill myself holy shit, at 13? I was too much of a puss for that. Anyways, I got in a fight over Facebook, and basically everything was thrown at me at once, but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell mom, she just doesn't understand. Dad would say just tell them to leave you alone, like i haven't tried that.
Anyways, I was told to go find the biggest cup in my cabinet & fill it with bleach and chug it. I had never felt so bad ever, I thought it was bad before, and the fact that i couldn't even handle someone saying something stupid like that shows how weak I am. (*warning ⚠* Contains me being a dumb ass, if you'd like to skip feel free) I remember standing in front of my mirror just crying over what I had become in a little under a year. I had use to be so outgoing, full of life, loud, but fun. I stared at myself in the mirror for what felts like ages, what HAD I become? What was THIS?? I went from fun, sweet, smart, cute, loud, crazy, outgoing kid, to.. A monster. That's what I was. It was a scary sight to see. I just couldn't take it anymore, and I honestly don't know what came over me. I just felt the need to feel pain, now judge me if you want, but I didn't know the impact it would've caused on me. So, considering the fact i didn't like the sight before me, i punched the fucking mirror, hit it against the wall & sat in the floor pick out glass shards. I took one, and cut myself. That fucking simple.(Do i care people read this & find out?? No not really, call me attention seeking if you'd like, but i feel no need in hiding something over a website I have hardly any friends on) anyways, it wasn't deep, not at all, but I was waiting to feel it, and you can call me bluffing, but the pain never came. It felt like I had only touched a little hot water or something. Me looking back now? I had my reasons..
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Apprehension and Sorrow
RandomThis isn't a story. Its a dialogue. That's a fancy word for "keeping up with my shit in a book". No, but it is like a journal type thing. not meant to be read, but feel free I don't give a fuck, and I don't know you. So no harm done, right? Wrong.
