Leah and...

Leah and... Giving Up.

Hey no one that reads this book,  or future me, if you exist. 

I'm done. With everything. I might as well make 13 tapes and get it over with because fuck, I can't live like this. 

In constant doubt of everything. Doubt about my friends caring for me, doubt about my future and how I will ever survive, doubt about love and loyalty and doubt about my own mental health. Hell, even doubt about my family loving me. 

I can't take it anymore. 

The constant panic attacks, the fear of human contact, the fear of commitment, the depression that is getting worse, the 24/7 suicidal thoughts, the constant urge to destory myself, the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the eating disorder slowly crawling back to me. 

My pshycologist is an angel, she really is. She tries so hard to help me, to make my life worth living again, but I am starting to think that maybe life isn't for everyone, you know. 

That some people just can't survive in a world like this and that some people are not meant to grow old. That some people need to be all alone and misunderstood until they die in any way, and people magically start caring about them. 

Because then you are safe. It is a one time care. There are no other strings attached. You show up to the funeral, cry, and everyone will forever believe that you cared for that person. For that person you demolished with your own bare hands. 

I've tried so many times to get out of this life, so abnormally many, but everytime the universe found a way to stop me. 

Not anymore, I am fucking done. 

I'm sorry to post this on here, but no one ever reads this and I have no one else to share this with. I'm sorry to bother you with it, I truly am, but I am giving up.