Wide Awake
So I don't know where to start. Tonight has not been easy, nor was the day that led to it. I ended up doing something that I haven't done in a very long time. And when I told my best friend she was extremely upset with me. And rightly so. But it doesn't change the fact that I did it. Nor can it get rid of the feeling that I want to do it again some more. I'm trying to resist but it felt better than I remembered. And the feeling after was good too. I know its not healthy per se but I struggle with this everyday.
People don't believe me, maybe now they will. But I'm not telling my sister or my mother. Mom will make it about her and sister will guilt me, together they'll try to get me sent back to the hospital. But I'm not suicidal so fuck you both.
You don't care about me, you haven't for a really long time. I'm just another means to an end. If I can get a job I can support you, if I'm around I can clean for you. You don't care if I'm fit to do anything so long as I get it done. And I'm tired. I have a life too. Its waiting for me to start living it but all you care about is what I can do for you.
You can say I never do anything that's fine. But maybe I'd be more inclined to if you didn't always treat me as if I weren't your own family. Go ahead. I fucking dare you to tear into me some more. I dare you to tell me this is my fault for not trying hard enough. That I don't do enough. That I do nothing. That I'm selfish and inconsiderate. That I only think about myself. Go a fucking head. I can guarantee there will be more marks on my legs come time for the truth.
You have no idea the damage you cause. And you think I'm being dramatic.
Well someone actually does care. My best friend. She's also the only one who knows what I've done at this point. She saw the picture. She actually tried to take care of me after she got through yelling. Telling me to go to bed and get some rest if I still felt like I needed to. What would you even say to me?
You think that Dad dying isn't killing me but it is. And maybe you don't have a heart and don't feel anything when you see him lying there or hear some of the really terrible shit he says nowadays. But I'm extremely sensitive, Dad, himself used to say it all the time. That I'm sensitive because I have a strong sense of empathy. All of my therapists have told me that I have sponge like qualities. I absord everything you heartless jerks who seem to think is fine to constantly fill me with about how I'm a terrible person.
Guess what? I've been listening. And I finally hit my breaking point. I may never end up killing myself because I made a promise to God for Dad that I would never take my own life. But I can inflict a lot of damage on myself without actually killing myself. So go ahead. I fucking dare you. Keep pushing. We'll see how this turns out.
Yours Truly