Story cover for Depression✖️ by ksaucedo000
Depression✖️
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    Time <5 mins
  • WpView
    Reads 190
  • WpVote
    Votes 4
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Feb 17, 2015
My life sucks. All I want to do is kill myself, but never have the guts to. I've started cutting. On my wrists,on my thighs,on my stomach, basically everywhere I have space. I've fallen into a big stress and depression. School doesn't make it any better. Friends make it worse. And family, well family takes the trophy. I live in a family of 2 siblings. My older sister of 17 years. And my brother of 20. They are like my parents because my mom and dad are never home. There in the streets selling drugs. Most of the time their in jail. My brother and sister whip me every time I do something wrong. And of the time it's the right thing. But this has happened to my ever since I was 5 years old. So I'm kind of use to it. I'm starting to enjoy the pain. I'm staring to not care about anything people say to me.
Life is horrible. But I enjoy it the way it should be...
My name is Katherine and this is my story.....
All Rights Reserved
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Loneliness. Depression. Broken. Scared. Devastated. Hopeless. Mournful. Disheartening. Bleak. Joyless. Somber. I have no one. Depression and Loneliness are the only things I feel. My family tries to make me happy, but I just put on a fake smile and cry about it in my room. They act like everything is alright, but everything is not. They KNOW I was devastated about Mom's murder. They KNOW I was heartbroken about Dad's sickness that eventually killed him. That's all I've thought about. Devastation and heartbroken. Just because of those two things. Never in my life I have been this devastating. Dayton, Hayden, Angel, or Monica know how to make me truly happy. Not even my own siblings know how to make me show a real smile. Suicide is all I can think about day to day and I've almost died because of that. DEPRESSION IS A REAL THING. NO ONE KNOWS HOW I FEEL EVERYDAY. NO ONE CAN JUDGE OTHERS ABOUT DEPRESSION OR EVEN MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS A REAL THING. DEPRESSION HAS KILLED PEOPLE. EVERYONE IN MY LIFE JUDGES ME JUST BECAUSE I DON'T SMILE, LAUGH, HUG, OR DO ANYTHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO. I CUT MYSELF, I CRY, I YELL, I VENT, I PUSH PEOPLE OUT OF MY LIFE. Those are the things people are worried about me. "Go kill yourself and join your parents in hell." They say and I just shrug it off and find a private place to hide and cry it out. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH LIFE ANYMORE!!!!" I say and I use my sharp nails and cut myself then cry some more. A gun is buried within my arm for defense from my dad, but I use it in case I am tired of society. Then that's when I met the Host Club. They saw my sadness and made me a part of it to repay my debt for accidentally breaking a vase. I am now a Host for men to flatter them, but how can normal guys want me to be a Host when I wear lip earrings, eyeliner, chains, and have a gun in my arm? I'm the definition of Hell. Then he made me smile again, something that I thought I would never get back. Happiness.
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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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Suicidal

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I'm just going to write part of the story because I'm terrible at descriptions. "See, Harry," I say, showing him a beautiful picture of the city, "these are reasons to live." "Looks like a perfect place to die to me," Harry says. "Harry, just listen to me. You're not worthless. You're not fat. You're not ugly. Please just stop saying these terrible things about yourself." "Yes I am. People tell me that all the time. They tell me to slit my wrists, I listen to them. They tell me I'm worthless, I believe them. They tell me I'm fat, I listen to them and starve myself. So people don't think the same as you. But it's not like it matters what one person says," Harry says sadly. "Awwww, my poor little cupcake! It's okay, sweetie, I'll help you," I tell him. "A-and AJ," Harry stutters, "P-people say that you hate me and want me to die just as much as them. Is that true?" "No, Harry. I love you very, very much. Please don't do these terrible things to yourself." Read the rest to find out!