Two points for honesty.
I need to start being honest with you people. This is a journal, an online one at that, and if I'm too scared to talk to you guys then who can I talk to? I shouldn't be scared of what you have to say. So here. I go. *deep breath*
I guess I'll start by saying my parents are putting me in an institution. How soon? Soon. Damn soon. Mom's got an appointment already and doctor's referrals aren't necessary, which will only hasten the process. It's called Peninsula, and it's a place for teenagers who have fucked themselves up emotionally or with addictions through a variety of treatments. There's Outpatients, which is six to eight weeks of intensive counseling though I don't have to live there, the hospital, which is inpatient for shorter periods of time, maybe a week or two weeks, and, the worst one, The Village, which is intensive inpatient treatment that can last from twelve to eighteen months and is for people who are suicidal, have severe drug problems, have schizophrenia, and stuff like this.
Now I will tell you a bit about me. I'm 14, and when I was 8, I was attacked by a complete stranger and nearly killed, when I was 9, my mother developed a re-occurring cancer, and 11, I was raped by two complete strangers at my Methodist Church. The one that probably hurt the most was the last, because I repressed the memory for a year and a half and it hit me in full swing again back some time in early eighth grade. I'm not going to give you any gory details, I don't want sympathy, but I do what it to be known.
Anyways, I coped with it with cutting myself. That started in seventh grade, got more and more severe as time went on, until now, to the point where my legs have no more space on them and look like I waded in a pool of barbwire. But something else started to happen too. I would have these panic attacks, but in the height of them my mind would shut off completely and I would go into this...primal state. But that primal state told me to kill myself, and I don't know why. I've attempted suicide four times in this state, once by slitting a vein, twice by overdosing on a cocktail of drugs, and once by drinking a cocktail of drain cleaners, and each time, once my sanity returns, I get scared shitless I'm going to die. I don't want to die. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know I'm not normal, and I don't know what this is, but it's very real, and it does scare me.
So anyways. All this being said, the parents didn't know anything about it until Tuesday. And so the solution, the way to get me fixed, the way for everything to be o-fucking-kay again is for me to be shipped off to some bullshit institution for the other teenagers who are fucked up like me. For teenagers who aren't stable enough to function in reality and spend all their time on the computer or contemplating suicide because that's all they are anymore.
This is who I am. I am not always sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, crack Naruto pairings, and a minor obsession for writing smut. And apparently, I have to pay for it now.
I'm scared, I'm not going to lie. I know what these places are like, I'm no idiot, you go there, they pretend like they care until all the slips are signed, then once you're in they don't give two shits about you, drug you up, and treat you like you're five. No bathrooms alone. No vending machines alone. No nothing. I know three people who've been to Peninsula and they all disliked it, which only furthers my discontent, but I can't control it. I'm going to go, and hopefully, when I come back, I'll be normal. I want to be normal.
I never made my shitty past public or the fact that I cut or have attempted suicide public because I figured people would look down on me. Call me a contradictory little hypocrite or a stereotypical emo, or tell me to just stop whining and kill myself since I "obviously want to". If people react that way, it's okay, I deserve and expect it. But I'd like it more if one didn't.
I hate being an emotional powder keg, and I have been ever since I got molested. One bad thing happens...one thing that's sudden and hurts like hell, just one and I can't handle it. I'm not stable. I've been pretending like I am completely and utterly stable for a long time, and I decided last night to stop lying. This is who I am. I am a wimpy, suicidal, selfish, ignorant little girl, and I don't need you to tell me because I know. (If you would like to tell me, go ahead.) I don't know what happens to me during these little...episodes. I don't know why I do what I do, but it happens and I can't control it.
I want to get better.
(And for the record, I have never been this honest with you people. Ever. Appreciate it or hate me for it, but it's honesty.)
On a completely unrelated note. Tayuya is beautiful. I drew her. And quite frankly. The drawing was beautiful too.
I guess I'll start by saying my parents are putting me in an institution. How soon? Soon. Damn soon. Mom's got an appointment already and doctor's referrals aren't necessary, which will only hasten the process. It's called Peninsula, and it's a place for teenagers who have fucked themselves up emotionally or with addictions through a variety of treatments. There's Outpatients, which is six to eight weeks of intensive counseling though I don't have to live there, the hospital, which is inpatient for shorter periods of time, maybe a week or two weeks, and, the worst one, The Village, which is intensive inpatient treatment that can last from twelve to eighteen months and is for people who are suicidal, have severe drug problems, have schizophrenia, and stuff like this.
Now I will tell you a bit about me. I'm 14, and when I was 8, I was attacked by a complete stranger and nearly killed, when I was 9, my mother developed a re-occurring cancer, and 11, I was raped by two complete strangers at my Methodist Church. The one that probably hurt the most was the last, because I repressed the memory for a year and a half and it hit me in full swing again back some time in early eighth grade. I'm not going to give you any gory details, I don't want sympathy, but I do what it to be known.
Anyways, I coped with it with cutting myself. That started in seventh grade, got more and more severe as time went on, until now, to the point where my legs have no more space on them and look like I waded in a pool of barbwire. But something else started to happen too. I would have these panic attacks, but in the height of them my mind would shut off completely and I would go into this...primal state. But that primal state told me to kill myself, and I don't know why. I've attempted suicide four times in this state, once by slitting a vein, twice by overdosing on a cocktail of drugs, and once by drinking a cocktail of drain cleaners, and each time, once my sanity returns, I get scared shitless I'm going to die. I don't want to die. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know I'm not normal, and I don't know what this is, but it's very real, and it does scare me.
So anyways. All this being said, the parents didn't know anything about it until Tuesday. And so the solution, the way to get me fixed, the way for everything to be o-fucking-kay again is for me to be shipped off to some bullshit institution for the other teenagers who are fucked up like me. For teenagers who aren't stable enough to function in reality and spend all their time on the computer or contemplating suicide because that's all they are anymore.
This is who I am. I am not always sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, crack Naruto pairings, and a minor obsession for writing smut. And apparently, I have to pay for it now.
I'm scared, I'm not going to lie. I know what these places are like, I'm no idiot, you go there, they pretend like they care until all the slips are signed, then once you're in they don't give two shits about you, drug you up, and treat you like you're five. No bathrooms alone. No vending machines alone. No nothing. I know three people who've been to Peninsula and they all disliked it, which only furthers my discontent, but I can't control it. I'm going to go, and hopefully, when I come back, I'll be normal. I want to be normal.
I never made my shitty past public or the fact that I cut or have attempted suicide public because I figured people would look down on me. Call me a contradictory little hypocrite or a stereotypical emo, or tell me to just stop whining and kill myself since I "obviously want to". If people react that way, it's okay, I deserve and expect it. But I'd like it more if one didn't.
I hate being an emotional powder keg, and I have been ever since I got molested. One bad thing happens...one thing that's sudden and hurts like hell, just one and I can't handle it. I'm not stable. I've been pretending like I am completely and utterly stable for a long time, and I decided last night to stop lying. This is who I am. I am a wimpy, suicidal, selfish, ignorant little girl, and I don't need you to tell me because I know. (If you would like to tell me, go ahead.) I don't know what happens to me during these little...episodes. I don't know why I do what I do, but it happens and I can't control it.
I want to get better.
(And for the record, I have never been this honest with you people. Ever. Appreciate it or hate me for it, but it's honesty.)
On a completely unrelated note. Tayuya is beautiful. I drew her. And quite frankly. The drawing was beautiful too.