29 April 2017. 

I wrote this on the 29 of April on my way back home. Didn’t have time to post it and also my mood got better. But I just wanted to show you that I have feelings. And if you ever thought about self harming yourself you should give it one more day.


I don’t even know why I’m sad. 

There is so many different thoughts going through my head right now, that it seems just too easy to get lost. I feel like it’s a maze there, with no particular ending. You just go in, and go deeper and deeper into the oblivion of what if’s and rather die’s and I’m stupid’s. 

There is no way to put it all in order but I guess if if there is anywhere I can start is that the thoughts have returned. I can’t figure out why. But it’s overwhelming to say the least. Honestly, suicide wasn’t something I thought of for about a year now. Yeah, there were times – times of weakness – but they only lasted a few seconds, minutes at most.  

But since a few days ago they have returned – with a bang. And I think about it a lot. 

Maybe it’s because I’m away from home and I see how useless of a person I am a bit more clearly. Maybe it’s because I’m coming home and I will have to face who I try to be. 

Maybe I just want some attention? 

I don’t know.  

The second thing is the fact that I feel used. Like a robot. I know – I don’t have the right to feel like that. I don’t have the right to moan. To be upset because my parents are doing everything for me. But yet I can’t stop this feeling. 

I get agitated extremely easily. If you give me to many tasks, talk to me when I’m really tired or simply do the wrong thing when I’m on my tiptoes, you might as well just have set off a  nuclear bomb. 

And the sad thing is my mom knows that. 

Should know that. 

I told her so many times, that I’m afraid I’m out of words. 

And then the continuous asking. “Are you okay?” No answer. “She’s probably just tired.” No answer. “She’s overwhelmed by the book she’s reading.” My parents would talk to each other now. “She’s missing him again.” They laughed. And then back to me. “Are you thirsty?” Shook my head. “Do you still have that Fanta?” I wanted to puke. My feet hurt and I wanted nothing else then to curl up into a ball and listen to “Somewhere only we know.”. And not hear. Not feel. I wanted to be away from everyone and everything. But my mom is a smart person who, way too often pretends otherwise. She told dad to dig it out for her from my backpack. He shook not only the bag. But my, at the time totaly lifeless, body. And it ached me more than I could have handled. But I just stayed quiet wishing it was over, so that I wouldn’t hurt them again. 

I guess that in all of this you could say they were worried. But I think it was not so much as worry as caring for themselves. Because when I’m sad I act out. That’s what teenagers do. Apparently. And they just don’t want to deal with that.

And as all those thoughts, plus ones that I don’t feel like sharing, are going in a spiral around my head the devistation in my heart goes deeper. And deeper. Until it’s impossible to dig out. 

And I’m sad. 

And when I’m sad I tend to think about the good things. And find reasons to end them. So, for the past hour I have thought about this one good thing. And I decided to end it before it ends me.

Good thing is, that I didn’t end it. Because it would’ve even the stupidest thing I could have done. And just for yourself – if your feeling down and you think about ending something just give it one more day. After all if it’s what you really need and want then it should be there tomorrow as well.

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