Today I tried to commit suicide again; the scarf my mother had made for me the year before pulled tight against my neck. But it was just another failed attempt, another attempt to find peace, to find a way to end it all. Why don't I just go through with it? Is it the fear of me failing again and my parents beating me for even doing so? Is it because I'm just too much of a pussy? I cannot choose one so I choose all. I do do it out of fear. I do do it because I'm weak.
I got yelled at this morning for lying about taking my medicine, but the truth is, I don't like taking them because all they remind me of is all the times I'd tried overdosing. My mom has told me before that all teens, especially those in high school, go through the same stages of depression I'm going through, but I don't agree. I don't understand what's wrong with me, besides the fact that I'm just a stupid, hideous, and an overall failure.
I have trichotillomania, which is a body-focused repetitive behavior classified as an impulse control disorder, which involves pulling out one's hair. But unlike this basic definition, I also have it's cousin; trichofesia, which is where I eat it instead of just throwing it away. I've already had three surgeries on my stomach because the hair blocks my digestive system from doing it's job, which causes the food in my stomach to slowly rot away while it's still in my stomach.
The process started again last month, I started slowly messing with my hair, then I pulled out one strand after another. It slowly went from one strand to multiple bald spots spread everywhere across my scalp. Friday evening, I got half my head shaved, and the other has an undercut. I'm afraid to go to school tomorrow because of how much I'm already bullied. Will they make fun of me? Will I lose all of my friends? These are the thoughts that are running through my head every second, every day.
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I actually wrote the chapter before this after I'd made this, but I just really wanted to get everything out. I didn't want to have any lies. I'm okay now that I've realized that I don't have anything to hide. If my friends don't accept me for who I am, then they were never truly my friends. I love that I don't truly know my readers, because if they hate me, they can hate me from a distance. If you do know me, please do understand how this works. Every individual person has their moments, their pain, their own emotions.
Love you all.
YOU ARE READING
A Reason To Breathe
Short StoryA short story about what effects depression can have any teenager. How it preys on their innocence and any life left and deserts it.
