I haven't been able to process my thoughts. I don't even know why I tried. I never meant to. I was angry, alone, depressed and not right in the head. I managed to regain my being before I fucked up. I....god this is terrifying to even write. I tried to kill myself. I've never once been suicidal even after everything that's happened to me. I finished an argument with my mom and I decided to go for a run to cool off. I got to the bridge which usually leads to my quiet area but I stopped and thought why not. Doesn't matter. So I climbed to the bars and then I fell back onto the bridge and passed out. Woke up 10-15 minutes later with NO recollection of what happened. Then it came to me in a dream. The memory. I replay my week trying to figure out why I tried. Everytime I thought I figured it out it came to a screeching halt. I narrowed it down to lonelyness and arguing. So here's why I even thought of suicide I think.

I have never been the popular kid. I always went in the opposite direction as other kids. Other kids conformed to societies standards, I did. So because of that I lost friends and became my own worst enemy. Being alone for years with the only interaction being you abusive father, gives you an out of body experience. Every abuse I took was another reason to hate myself until all I could see was reasons to hate myself. No good qualities. I recently managed to find a few reasons to love myself, but its all gone down the drain as i realise my friends where I live don't really care about me. It's like elementary all over again. Having those voices nagging me hasn't helped my depression or self hatred. 

Arguing. I'm a teenager, I screw up. But I also don't. My mother loves to ignore the good things I do sometimes and focus on the bad. I don't mean to forget this one thing or this thing, I'm a junior in highschool. My days are full of homework. My only free time is night. And even then I'm busy practicing singing or dancing and I forget to do my dishes or clean the pan. Not on purpose. I always make sure to do them in the end, but its just not good enough.

My math teacher likes to put her hand on your shoulder when she helps you with a problem. Like a caring mother. The first few times she did that I flinched. My dad would hit me and then sexually abuse me and if I made a mistake my mom would hit me with a wooden spoon, slipper or something like that (not anymore seeing as I can run away if I wanted) but it was the first time I've ever flinched to a teacher. She looked so sad and pitied me. I don't like pity, I don't want pity. Idk.

-cry