Maybe, Just Maybe
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- Parts 3
its been almost a year since the last time i self-harmed. lately my depression hasn't been too bad. well, i say "too bad" but, i suppose, just not bad enough to cut. but, it just got a hell of a lot worse. you see, my parents have been married over 20 years and i have no siblings. so i have always been extremely close to my parents. even when i was a troublemaker they loved me unconditionally. but things have changed. i have changed, and they dont know how to deal with me anymore. sadly, we have drifted apart, which increases my sadness just thinking about it. they know about my depression, and i know they really care, but they put me on the lexapro, and expect that to make all the difference, when really, all i need, is that unconditional love, or atleast some reassurance. and this, is the story of a peice of shit teenager, searching for some unconditional love, and something to take away the pain. but also the hell she goes through in order to get just that.
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ninadobrev
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I like inflicting pain. Not on others but on myself. Some people would call me depressed but I'm not. If anything the pain makes me happy. I started "self harming" at the mere age of nine. Or at least, that's what she called it. My therapist, I mean. She ended up giving me a life time supply of antidepressants and some shitty advice. I'm now eighteen, rotting in jail, and awaiting my death sentence. This is my story and if I'm quite honest, you don't want to hear it. +++ awards: ➵ Winner, Short Story Category, "Summer Book Awards" @Capybara100 ➵ Overall Winner, "Summer Book Awards" @Capybara100 status: ➵ started - 19/08/17 ➵ finished- 07/11/18 note: ➵ Please don't copy me. I don't appreciate it and will block you and report you. No writer likes to be copied and neither do readers. Readers want something which is unique and original.
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