It is now six in the morning on Monday and I haven't slept since Thursday night.
I can only pretend to be okay for so long. Because at the end of the night, I'm always going to be completely alone. And I'm only going to be able to take it for so long before I shatter again.
During the day, I act like I feel completely normal so my parents won't make me go back on the anti-depressants. I don't like the feeling that comes with knowing that I have to be drugged to be like everyone else. To be normal. I lie to myself and to everyone else to keep people from seeing that I'm broken. That, after everything that happened, I'm not . . . Normal. I'm emotionally bankrupt. I don't feel anything towards anyone anymore. I keep telling myself that I do but I know differently. I know that it's just a cover up. A charade to keep my mind from tearing itself apart like it did tonight.
It doesn't scare me anymore. I've just come to accept it. I've come to accept that I'm empty inside. Hollow.
I don't miss being normal because it's been years since I have been. I barely remember having a life. I barely remember feeling wanted and loved. I hear people say they care all the time but it goes in one ear and right on out the other. It doesn't carry the same weight that it used to. Not after having people that I cared about say that they cared about me and then turn around and tear me to shreds. They would say that they care and then less than a week later they were telling me how worthless and pitiful I am. And you know what? I started to believe them and after years of trying not to let it get to me, I gave in. And now, no matter what anyone says or does, I truly feel worthless at the end of the day.
I used to go to a psychiatrist and she told me that at times everyone goes through something like this at some point in their life and that it'll go away eventually. She said that "because of the trauma you dealt with over the last three to four years, your mind locked away all the hurt that you were feeling and then, once that was gone, it stopped letting you really feel emotions to the level that most people do. Once enough time has passed you'll be able to deal with the problems and move on". She had some clinical term for it that I don't remember but it's been almost six years since all the "trauma" happened and yet, here I sit. Empty. Those emotions never came back. And I don't feel the same way that I did before all that. I know that I won't be normal again but I don't feel ANYTHING close to what I used to. I don't feel worry. Or pain. Or happiness. Or comfort. Or love. . . I don't feel any of that anymore. It may be there to some extent but it's all just one big pit of nothing in my heart.
Yeah, sometimes there's a small twinge of something but it doesn't stay for longer than a few seconds and it's barely there in the first place.
I've withdrawn into myself to the point that I don't let anyone see me like this. Even when I'm doing something that I used to love doing, all that anyone ever sees is a lie.
I just want it to stop. . . . I don't want to feel this anymore. I don't want to be alive because I can't face the truth of it. I can't deal with the fact that no one really talks to me anymore. I feel completely alone. A few nights ago I told one of the closest friends that I've ever had that I was close to trying something to end everything and you know what I got for a response? Not a damned thing. Zip Zero Zilch. I didn't hear a single word from them and I haven't heard anything since that night. . . And that's why I broke tonight. The first true emotion I've felt in fucking years is a pain so profound that I can actually feel my chest ache. Because that was the first time that I've told someone that I was close to seriously hurting myself and heard nothing back. There's always been someone who would text back saying "please be safe" or "What's wrong?" or anything. Just something to let me know that SOMEONE would notice and that has almost always been enough to stop me from doing too much damage. But not now. I really am alone.
. . . And I have cuts running down my ribs on both sides. And along the insides of my legs. And all over my back. . . I stopped trying to count those ones because they started blending together.
They haven't closed because I took my sister skating a couple nights ago and I was skating for five straight hours. They got bad enough from that that every time I move, they split open again.
I'm just done with it all.
I can't take it anymore
I won't
Goodbye. . . . I'm sorry.
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