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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#86
painkillers
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"There comes a point where you no longer care if there's a light at the end of the tunnel or not. You're just sick of the tunnel." - Who I am doesn't matter. How I got here doesn't matter. What matters now is I'm getting help, right? That's what they tell me here. They tell me that the road to recovery feels like a terrible butt fuck, but the fact that you're on the path to begin with, is all that matters. So as I sit in this circle of fuck ups, I realize just how different I am from them. I didn't attempt suicide because my mother was a crack addict who didn't want me. My father wasn't abusive. I didn't have a sibling die in a car accident. I was never really bullied either. I attempted suicide because, for the first time in years, I thought I had found something that could make me feel again... and after not feeling much at all for far too long, perhaps I went a bit overboard
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