TW: mentions of self-harm and dark, depressed thoughts.
Well, it's been a while. I've been kinda a-wall lately; sorry, guys.
My grades are trash, my sister is coming home soon, and my drama class is an actual nightmare as of late. I have no clue what I'm even doing anymore.
Every day is like another hurdle, even higher than the last, that I have to somehow get over without any equipment or anything. It's an uphill battle that I'm so tired of fighting.
I've gained so much weight in the past two weeks you wouldn't even believe it. I just don't know how much longer I can do this. I really don't, and I try to be relatively positive and it's so draining.
I can't tell my friends about how I feel. I don't want their sympathy. They can't help. I can't tell the only adult I trust because he's legally required to tell the higher-ups at school, and I don't expect him to risk his job for me. I would never ask for that.
I can't even tell my parents because they never take it seriously. They only took it seriously one time, when they caught me with a flat iron held to my wrist, and all they did was tell me that they're gonna throw me in a mental asylum if I do it again. Yeah, as if that made me stop.
I'm like ten months clean, guys. Almost eleven, I think. I really don't want to break that, but I don't know. I can't deal with this. I need something else to focus on. I need something else to hurt so I don't have to deal with everything.
More than anything, I just want it all to end.
I really do, and I don't know what to do about all that. Every time I pick up a razor, or a knife, or a flat iron, I have to forcefully make myself put it back down. I haven't been able to straighten my hair in months because I can't bring myself to hold the iron. The only reason I can shave is because I use a safety razor.
I don't have anyone. I can't tell anyone. The only reason I can even tell y'all is because I don't know any of you irl, so you can't exactly do anything anyway.
I'm a sack of shit.
I'm worthless.
I'm already dead. My body is the only thing still moving. My mind is washed out, shriveled up. I might as well be brain dead, or in a coma.
YOU ARE READING
The Journal of a Young Trans Boy
RandomI've seen lots of people with things like these, so I figured I would make one too. It seems to help sometimes. I'll include happy events too, though, so this won't just be me complaining about shiz. Just a way to get to know my every day life a bit...
