Monday 2-25-19
Great so, I’m still alive. Hmmm. I think I want to get myself sent to a mental hospital. Pretend to almost kill myself but get caught on purpose. So that. You know. I might feel better. Or just not get caught. And die. But then there are my friends. They would not be happy if I was dead. It would start a chain reaction of suicides. Because most of my friends have really bad depression, if they aren’t suicidal already.
So I think yesterday I mentioned a dull nail… Well pins are sharper, and just as painful, but they draw even less blood, so they aren’t nearly as satisfying. Pencil sharpener blades on the other hand… Well lets just say my arm really hurts right now. Typing doesn’t help it. I need to type more.
So what happened? I am usually much better when we have school, right? People, even those as mentally unwell as my friends, make me feel 10000 times better, so I don’t feel as much like shit and usually have a will to live at least because I’m reminded of how many people hurt when I do. WEELLLLL…….. NO SCHOOL TODAY! Fuck! Worst news I’ve had in years! Then Mom had to go in to work and I had no supervision all day. Meaning no-one to try to hide from while I took out the blade. So that happened. I probably should be practicing viola (yes I play viola. It isn’t a well-known instrament, so if you don’t know what it is: It is like a violin, but bigger with lower notes, it is not a cello, it is played on your shoulder, like a violin… JUST LOOK IT UP I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE!!!) but…
1) My arm hurts
2) I feel like shit and don’t want to do anything
3) It won’t matter all in all if I practice, or do anything for that matter
4) I have no pationts with myself right now, and that is not good for practicing
5) I FEEL LIKE SHIT
So yeah. I think Mom is home now, so I’ll be back later. I have more depression facts from the past to tell you. Also, side note, I’m thinking of if I ever kill myself, I’ll write a link to this on it, so people can see my thoughts. Lol
Being around my Mom has never scared me so much. She is a person I really love, and having cuts on my arm that I am hiding with only a sleeve makes me nervous, because she will hurt and stress if she knows the way I feel. I try to be myself though. Myself. I don’t know who that is anymore. I think I lost her. In fourth grade. Maybe the summer before. I’ve been putting on masks for different people. Different versions of me that are never true. They only have a piece of the real me. I have one for friends, one for peers, one for teachers, one for family, one for my parents. I don’t know who I am. Me. I don’t know what drives me. Because I don’t feel driven.
I have friends who be who they are shamelessly. Fuck other people and their opinions. Velvet doesn’t hide their scars, or their gender, Coke doesn’t lie if anyone asks where he was for two weeks (mental hospital), Unicorn doesn’t pretend not to be gay, and neither does Green Day, who doesn’t hide their gender either. A group of people who show themselves and damn the world. And me. Clumsily spilling masks everywhere, I was inspired. And I think I let the mask slip. And the thing with masks, is that while no-one can see you, you find it harder to see the world. And when you look into a mirror, you can’t see yourself either. And I was scared. By what I saw. And… I realised I’m not ok.
When I was younger, starting at about 7, until, well, I’ll be honest, last year, I would have breakdowns. Not too often, about once a year. I would just sit on my bed and cry. Mom would ask me what was wrong, but I didn’t know. I just felt internal pain. The only word I had to describe it was stress. So that’s the word I used. Now I have a new one: Depressed.
When that masked slipped and I looked into the mirror I remembered these breakdowns, I identified them as being depressed. I looked at other things. Realized the reason I felt warm and fuzzy and happy and like nothing could go wrong whenever I was around Grapes (Lol great nickname) was because I liked HER. I liked HER. (She was really pretty). And then at the beginning of this school year Green Day moved here and I realized I liked THEM. I’d also liked boys. I now identify as Pansexual, though 13 is a little early to stay fixated on a single sexuality.
For a while I was worried my friends where toxic. I hear so many things: Stay away from toxic mentally ill people, it can make you ill too! Why don’t you hang out with Aelin more often, she’s more… healthy, right?
I was kind of afraid that they were getting to me. I watched a video: How to tell if you have a toxic friend! None of the points applied. They were never forcing their sadness onto me. The worst they ever did was acknowledge it, or ask me if I’ve felt like x or Y. (Which I had in most cases) They never left me out or hurt me. They saw, nope, see me as the innocent one of the group. I do spend less time on the internet.
I think I do have a mood disorder of my own, but not from them. A few days ago I looked into what it was. I was thinking maybe bipolar, I sometimes get what I can only describe the same way bipolar highs are described, but it’s not mania, I get the lows too. I took a general disorder test, and scored the highest for bipolar, but that test said I didn’t have it. I took a bipolar test. It was… I don’t remember… 87% sure I have bipolar? Anyways I sort of used a bunch of online tests to self diagnose bipolar one night. This has no point and doesn’t pertain to the rest of my entry at all.
Hey! Want to here some of my most common thoughts I have when I feel super depressed? Well if not, too bad.
I’m not trying hard enough
No one cares, they just took pity on me and let me think I’m their friend
Stop no. I need help. NO! I CAN HELP MYSELF! IT’S JUST MIND OVER MATTER!
I’m not trying hard enough
I want to die
SELF! WHY ARE YOU SO CONFUSING?!?
I’m not trying hard enough
Nothing I do will ever matter
This whole world could just be a figment of my mind, everyone I know and love doesn’t really exist
I’m not trying hard enough
You may have noticed a theme. I’m not enough. Not trying hard enough. Each of those is followed by a loop:
I’m not trying hard enough. I need to try harder. I can’t try hard enough. I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough. I can’t meet everyone’s expectations. People have expectations for a reason. Earth is no place for slackers. I need to get out. NO DON’T DIE! THAT’S FAILURE!!! WHAT DO I DO I’M NOT ENOUGH!!! I’m not trying hard enough. I need to try harder.
And so on. It’s not productive, nor does it make me try harder. It burns me out and makes my performance worse, and makes me want to lay in bed doing nothing all day. So that’s what that feels like. A little.
I don’t really have anything else to say today. Don’t expect long entries tomorrow. I have school to go to, and then homework to do. And then a forensics competition (which I’m doing prose for, which is funny because right now I’m posting to Prosebox) to go to. Damn tomorrow is busy. At least I’ll be distracted. Aaaannnyways… Bye
-Amora
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