This is about two years olds. But I like to repost it every once in a while for anyone who needs to feel like someone understands. I don’t know where to begin. Yesterday I was standing outside of the casino, and a man looked to me and said “Nobody cares”, I turned back at him not thinking much of it, and responded with a sarcastic “Okay?” As he lit his cigarette he said to me in such a sad yet honest voice “I can see it in your eyes, you know nobody cares. It’s fine, nobody cares about me either.” and at that very moment, I had never felt more in touch with anyone. I had never felt closer to another human being in my life, until then. Because a stranger was able to look at me, and see that I was unhappy and he didn’t judge though I responded rudely to him. He knew my reasoning. It’s people like that man, that we need more of. People like him that give me hope for the human race, because he looked to me in sorrow. Not even my own family had spoken to me in such a way, and that’s what really killed me. My own parents, my sisters and brothers can see me, and look right through me. The pain doesn’t surface to them. They don’t see it, they don’t see anything. I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I am so god damned fed up with being unnoticed by the people that say they care. But mostly, I am done, so done, with people knowing what Others feel on a daily basis, and mocking it. Saying my generation needs to toughen up. Will I need to toughen up when I’m gone, will anyone that understands me need to toughen up?! Nobody needs to toughen up. Depression isn’t a flaw in character, it’s a flaw in chemistry. You cant just get over it. But you know the scariest thing about changing from depression is that, when I’m home alone I don’t get scared when I hear a noise, I don’t get nervous on the road if a car gets too close, or if Im being followed. I’m so ready to die that it really just doesn’t scare me anymore. I can die at any moment, of any day, but the real tragedy is that I haven’t. 99% of me wants to end it all, and 1% of me doesn’t know how to kill myself without killing the people around me. And every night, that one sorry ass percent wins. But you still cut, you still cry, you still scream, and whenever someone offers a hand you reject it. Not because you just want the attention, but because someone that truly wants to die, wouldn’t seek help! Why on Earth, someone please tell me, WHY would anyone that wanted to kill themselves try to save themselves. We just want someone to notice, to acknowledge that we are here, and what we feel is real. But all it takes, is a smile, a laugh, for everyone to think you’re okay. The funny thing, about being “okay” is that, just “okay” shouldn’t suffice. Nobody should be, just okay. And to those of you who cut, who have, who will, I know what it feels like to pull your sleeves down when someone brings up self harm. And to those of you who don’t, who think we’re crazy just think about how much pain a person needs to be in to drag a blade across their skin. There are so many beautiful minds out there, and nobody gives anyone a chance, nobody wants to get to know you. The cure for cancer can be inside the mind of someone that didn’t live long enough to find out how smart he was, because people are cruel, and people don’t care. You try not to talk much because it hurts, not only mentally, but physically it hurts to open your mouth, it hurts to get the words out clearly and loudly. You stumble on your words, and you choke, you begin to sob while trying to explain what’s wrong. But by the time you realize you’re doing nothing but rambling on, you find yourself screaming. Because it hurts, it actually hurts to try and explain. So you write, and even when writing it doesn’t seem to get everything out the way you want it. Every time you read it over, there is something you left out. Because It’s so much more than being sad, it’s being broken. Being so broken that you hold it in all through school, until the time you’re on that ride home, and you’re silent, and you’re thinking. Your mom is in the front seat, talking to you, and you just nod, you don’t say a word. Finally you get in the house, quietly walk upstairs not to startle anyone, and you go into your room, lock the door….and THAT’S when you hit the floor, and begin to sob. You cry silently, until you gasp for air and the cries become louder, and to whoever is up there, you throw your head back, and your hands up and scream “Why me!?”. Then you begin to catch your breathe, and become more quiet, until you just collapse, face in hands and you just lay there, numb. But, who cares right? Nobody even believes that you are truly miserable because after all you’re still here aren’t you? People make self harm jokes, and you cringe, and to every person that laughs, you consider that the end of your friendship. You’re too embarrassed to stand up for yourself, because you know if they laugh, It’ll kill you. So you avoid it, because you know if you go home and finally just do it, Your mother will have to find you. Lifeless, call everyone and tell them what’s happened. She’d have to organize my funeral, She’s have to rummage through my things cleaning my room and collecting my belongings, and in the meantime she’d find countless suicide notes, each one, different dates, each one, different words. To anyone that knows what Im talking about, Just know, that I’m glad you woke up today. Because that means I’m not alone.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Apr 2014 17:31:32 +0000
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