P. S. This is not Meant to be Found

Bad things

I can't tell you exactly when or why it started.

All i know is that about five months back, everything started going bad. Dark things like to creep their way into my mind quite often now.

I don't know where they came from. I don't know why they came either. I don't seem to know much anymore.

Depression? I'm not exactly sure. But for some reason the word depression seems so definite. So sure. Like there is no turning back, no hope once you have it. I don't like that word.

So for now, just... bad things. Bad thoughts. Scary thoughts. That's all they are, really.

Well, that's all they were. That is, until I took actions on my bad thoughts. That's when they became bad things.

I've recently been trying to suppress my bad things back to bad thoughts because when I do bad things...well it makes my mom upset.

She's one of the few who care about me. Her and Gabriella. That's pretty much it.

She didn't notice at first so I thought it was alright. I thought no one cared. I thought- for some strange reason -that taking the blade to my wrist would stop the bad thoughts.

I've since learned that writing helps. Writing helps more than blades do. And I'm still scared the bad things will come back soon, so I'm going to try and write to you as often as possible.

I'm sorry that you're reading this. I know you probably don't care and it will be a waste of your precious, precious time here.

But I need this.

I'm not sure if there is a point to living. But I won't know if I never try.

P. S. This is not meant to be found.