The diary of a depressed teen.

17

Today I turned 17. Now most teenagers hope for balloons, or gift cards, or lots of gifts and a big party, for their birthday surprises. No. I don't get that. I get to wish for it to be a good day. What is a good day exactly? Well, MY definition of a good day is where a father hugs his daughter and says, "happy birthday love, you are one of the greatest accomplishments of my life", and kisses her on the forehead. A day where all family fighting goes away. A day where I used to pick out what birthday cake I wanted my mom to make on my special day. A day where I got to pick what we ate for dinner, and everyone else had to deal with it. A day where maybe, just maybe, dad wouldn't pick up the bottle of vodka, wouldn't even touch it, because I was enough. But I must not be. I must not be enough for him to fight with my brother at 11:00 pm (roughly) and then go on about how everything in his life is falling apart and how it's everybody else's fault but his. It's only his fault, but can I tell him that? No. I can't. He's too broken and if I tell him that he is the only one responsible for the broken mess that is our lives, I'm afraid that is what will kill him. He has admitted to me that he wants to die. That he's thought about blowing his brains out multiple times. How should that make a daughter feel? I turned 17 today. 17 years of love, pain, smiles, frowns, promises, lies, and deception. I can't help but think that this is all that life is about. That it will never get better. The past two years have been my own personal hell. I'm losing myself day by day and I don't know how much longer I can keep holding on. How much pain can someone take until it kills them? 17 years? Maybe 50. But the time we have here on earth is so precious. There will never be anything as amazing as going out into the forest at night and finding the stars, or staying in with all your friends, gossiping and making new inside jokes, or even sitting by the window with your favorite hot beverage reading a book. Reading is one of my favorite things to do. Wanna know why? Because if I can escape my life for even two hours a day, I'll use any means possible to do so. I'm so great full to be alive, and I would never kill myself. But, pain is a part of life right? Weather it's starvation, self-harm, drugs, or love. Life is painful and I guess we just have to accept it. The people we love the most are often the people with the most power to hurt us.