still surviving

Diary Entry 1: 6th April 2019

I don't know how I'm still alive right now. Frankly, I don't know if I should be. I don't know what this story is; I don't even know if I'm going to publish it yet. But I've got endless time on my hands and I might as well do something with it, so here goes nothing, I suppose.
My name is Hannah, and at time of writing (April 2019) I'm 17. I'm probably one of the weirdest people you'll ever meet. Blue hair, obsessed with psychology and depressing shit, has about a million pets, fairly talentless in most aspects. Probably because nothing really interests me any more. All of my friends have plans for the future - they aspire to be musicians, actors, artists, dancers... But me? I have no idea what I want to do with the rest of my life. I have the attention span of an overexcited puppy, the memory of an early-stages Alzheimer's patient and no achievements to speak of, at the moment at least. I can't act, sing, draw or dance to save my life. I'm even worse at anything mathematical, science gives me a headache, equations send me to sleep at my desk. The only thing I'm (somewhat) passable at is writing, which is why I'm doing this to begin with. It doesn't take a genius to figure out I don't have a lot going for me at the minute.
The reason why I'm so hopeless at life in general? I'm ill. Pretty badly ill. But not with any kind of illness that people tend to care about.
I've been diagnosed with ASD, depression, anxiety, PTSD, ODD (rather fitting) and a whole host of other things that I can't even remember. Essentially, my brain doesn't work the way it's supposed to. Some of it is genetic, some of it is from trauma, some of it seems to have just popped up out of nowhere just to make things more difficult. I can barely function on a "normal" level on any given day. It's not as severe as some other conditions - I can dress myself, feed myself, bathe, travel, look after myself on a basic level. I don't need people constantly caring for me. But it's severe enough that a lot of things that people take for granted are impossible. I get flashbacks all the time, frequently dissociate from reality, so I can't concentrate on anything. Some days I can't get out of bed, because my mind physically won't let me; I don't even have the energy to walk downstairs. I can't concentrate on anything, especially things that I'm not interested in doing. Panic attacks, suicidal ideation, intrusive thoughts, paranoia, trust issues, mood swings - you name it, I've probably got it.
I tried to overdose about a week ago. But naive as I was, I didn't think I needed to take as many pills as I should've done. A half-assed attempt at dying. I'm just glad I can't remember most of it, because what I do remember is pure and utter hell. Probably another event to add to my list of traumas, another few hundred pounds spent on therapy. Luckily, my mind has blanked it out. Nothing I'm not used to.