The Lost And Lonely

It Continues

Nothing seems to help me at this point. I was going to therapy, had a behavioral coach and an in home therapist. I was even going to see the school counselor every morning to make sure I had myself under control. Doctors put me on multiple medications for I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression, not to mention my terrible anger issues and inability to properly sleep at night.
No one would listen to me before so why would they now...id been going to therapy for years at this point. I grew tired of the stupid games they tried to pull everytime i had an appointment. My parents and family members all saw me as a happy child growing up and most couldnt understand why i started spending more time alone and pushing off doing things that use to bring my life light.
I had loads of friends, I climbed trees, I wrestled with my brothers and sister, I was a straight A student all throughout my elementary school years. There was no way they couldve noticed the pain I was in, i wouldn't let them. I wanted help but everytime i tried to talk to someone they would yell at me or tell me i was over reacting or even blame it on the fact i was adopted. Guess i was just playing the game too well, hiding my emotions and the real me from everyone.
I stopped getting the best grades I could, and I wasn't as active. Could it be that my game was finally coming to an end? All this time I would change the rules to my game in order to keep them all happy. I would do anything to make them happy and to think i was doing fine on my own. This day was different. A split second, I was writing and drawing like usual do when my parents left for the store. I was home alone. It had been a long day and i started flipping through my old sketches. I would draw people hanging, knives, guns, blood. The pain. I tried to keep it together as the thoughts started flooding my mind. "Youre worthless" " no one loves you" "you will never be enough" " its all for attention" " what the hell is wrong with you". I couldnt take it anymore. I wanted to die, i wanted to kill myself and get it all over with. I took the sharpest knife i could find from the kitchen and begin cutting myself. One after another. And another. And another. I hated myself. I hated my life. My right fist struck the cement wall of my room as the tears were rolling down my face. Blood rushing down my arm with a bruised right hand as i heard the door opening.
I walked out of my room to face my parents. My dad wouldnt even look me in the eyes as he asked how I could do such a thing. He meant the world to me. How could i do something like this to him...why did i have to be so worthless to hurt him like that.
I was sent to three different mental facilities to be put on a suicide holds. It was a good break from the living hell at home but i would never choose to go back at the thought that id still have to return 'home'. One night after i had been released, me and my mother had gotten into a huge argument. She claimed that I was making everything up just to be the victim. My words back was that she was not I. She left and called the crisis line on me instead of trying to figure out what had happened to make that night another bad night.
Another night. I snapped. My two nieces were staying the night with us but I couldn't help myself, I texted a friend and told them to pick a number as I said my goodbyes and thank yous in a group chat. My mother walked in on me holding a knife in one hand and the other bleeding. She only got mad that I wasn't sleeping and said I wouldn't be sleeping all day since my nieces were there. My heart tore when she didn't see the blood running down my hand or that she didn't hear the sound in my voice as it cracked through many sobs. It hurt..a lot.