suicide thoughts-ghostwritter28
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- Parts 1
For the past 4 years I've been heavily depressed, I always thought the idea of suicide was stupid and selfish like so many others do, but for the past 2 year I've now experienced what those thoughts are like and how dark and controlling they can be, as a child I had a controlling and abusive father which now I can't stand loosing control of myself or what I'm able to control, suicidal thoughts take that from me, even though I know I'll never commit because of how much I love my nephew and no matter how much I hurt I know nothing will hurt more than not seeing him grow up.
As a few of you know I write, usually short stories sometimes I try start a novel, because I know I'll never commit but I am hurting more than ever I sometimes write what the thoughts feel like and what depression does and takes, it's different for everyone I know that but when I write like this it helps me feel less alone, these aren't suicide notes but more like poems about the feeling of suicide and depression and what it takes for yourself you never thought you could lose, i'm lucky enough to have an anchor that keeps me fighting, not everyone does and sometimes the pain outways the reason to fight, I hope that my writing gives thoes people either one more reason to fight or their first reason to fight.
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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
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