Being a tomboyish pansexual

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So, I wanna be honest about something really personal because now I'm actually ready to admit it.
  So here goes...let us have Ms. Serious take over for a bit:
Warning: this is real, this is graphic. Skip if you want to and skip it if it hits too close to home because I'm not holding back on this. I held this back for years and I need it off my chest or else I might explode.

  I...
  Have....
   Tried....
     To....
      Kill....
        Myself.....
More than once....
   Yeah I know it's a scary thing to imagine let alone live it. I was depressed and I had managed to convince myself that the world would be better off without me to sort of mess it up. So I did what any kid could do, I hide my feelings from people I cared about. I put on a mask of happiness and cheeriness to make it seem like everything was ok but in reality I was reaching my limit. From parents who didn't even notice me hurting, to the verbal abuse I got from a woman who I had admired, and to the fact that I could not talk to anyone about how I felt because that would be the selfish thing to do.
  I was kid when I wanted to die the first time. A kid. A brand new middle schooler, who had her head in a book and no friends to talk to. I tried to choke myself with a belt. But I didn't. So put my mask back on and played along with everything. I cried my self to sleep.
  The next one was shortly after becoming a freshman in high school. The stress of my home life caught up to me and I pushed people away. I taped a bag to my head and hoped to lose all of my oxygen. Like a fish out of water. That bag had a hole in it after I realized I wasn't gonna die that die that day. I cried myself to sleep.
  The latest one was during this school year. I had a bad day and to make things worse with the stress I was going through, I was set in a position that made me feel small. Like I was in the wrong and that I was too stupid to do anything. I snapped. I blacked out and when I came too I saw the knife pressed to my throat. Just itching to be brought down to my skin to draw blood. I cried and cried because after that moment: my mask finally broke.
  I got help for awhile. But my parents had some finical issues and I highly doubt that I will be able to go back to therapy. It's because of that therapy that I'm able to talk about this more and let people in. I'm not gonna hide it.
   So that's my serious discussion. And here is some food for thought:
  Will it ever be obvious to see someone hurting? And if it is, why is that sometimes the people who are needed the most are the people who will hurt you the worst?