I am in a safer environment, getting the attention I need, and the nutrition I need. I'm not in that filth anymore or around my ass of a stepdad. So why aren't things getting better in my head. The darkness is still there, the dull lonely ache in my heart is still there. I have been clean for 5 weeks and 1 day but my wrists and thighs constantly itch. I still feel the constant need to take a razor to my skin and feel the familiar sting of the blade. To see the blood bead up in thin straight lines. But I can't sate that thirst. I must suffer silently so I can make everyone believe I am okay now. I know that where I am is the best it will get till I can go off to college. But I wish it would get better now. I wish they would accept me for who I am. It's hard being lesbian in an all Christian family. My great grandma (who I live with) said she will love me no matter what she just doesn't approve of it. The rest of my family is isolating themselves away from me. I want to scream. But I can't. So it stays bottled up inside eating at me. It will keep doing it till there is nothing of me left. Maybe I will die before then. Maybe I will break and end it myself. It's simple. A couple of bottles of pills. A pull of the trigger. A rope and a tree branch. I shouldn't be thinking of suicide anymore. I should be getting better. I'm not. It's like no matter where I go the feelings follow. I honestly wonder how many people would miss me or be hurt if I killed myself. Three people tops. I know most of my friends just pretend to like me. I know they talk about me behind my back. Maybe one day if I'm still alive I will find where I fit in. But I cannot see that happening. I'm just better off dead.