Not OK
I'm sitting in my dim bedroom, squeezing the life out of the stress ball I was given at the nuthouse. I want to cut so badly but I don't have any tools or any way to get them. I'm also afraid if my parents find out I'll be locked back up in the hospital and not allowed to dance. I really need to go to my dance competition. One more month.
I'm so suicidal. just slicing my wrists with the really sharp knives and I don't have to worry about dance or competition or school or graduating or college. I could just be done. And my whole life I've been told to get things done early.
But thats another though I can't share.
The hospital is of no use to me. My mom just uses it as a threat. I scare her. And when she looked at me like I was some monster, some crazy homeless person who gets in your face, it broke my heart. I'm fucking sorry I'm sick. Your perfect little girl is dead.
I feel my heart pump adrenaline through my veins. I feel sick and lightheaded but weighed down by bricks on my shoulders and in the pit of my stomach.
I need to do better. I need to study more, ace the psych test, lose weight (get to 100 lb), know my dance routines better, perform my solo better, keep my bathroom cleaner, organize my tee shirt drawer because the stacks got messed up.
Nothing I ever do will be good enough for me. In some ways, I despise my mother for drilling this into my head. But I most of all hate myself for letting her, for letting myself become this hyper-anxious OCD freak.
I can't cry. Thats weak.But then again, I've been a weakling all along.
I'm so screwed. All I want to do is graduate from high school. I have to take online classes because going to school made me throw up every morning from nerves, then hyperventilate all day, hearing the sensory black hole of NOISE. Everywhere, so loud, snippets of others lives. Plus, you know, I was invisible girl. No one ever made eye contact or bothered to say hello even when I said it first. Hell, I'm getting off topic.
I don't know how I'm going to finish this semester running on fumes. I don't want to go to Rogers Hospital for some 4 week program to reprogram my brain. That sounds horrific. They tell me it might be my only option. At 18 at least I get final vote.
I feel like clawing my skin off. Am I extra crazy or is that normal?
I'm so suicidal. just slicing my wrists with the really sharp knives and I don't have to worry about dance or competition or school or graduating or college. I could just be done. And my whole life I've been told to get things done early.
But thats another though I can't share.
The hospital is of no use to me. My mom just uses it as a threat. I scare her. And when she looked at me like I was some monster, some crazy homeless person who gets in your face, it broke my heart. I'm fucking sorry I'm sick. Your perfect little girl is dead.
I feel my heart pump adrenaline through my veins. I feel sick and lightheaded but weighed down by bricks on my shoulders and in the pit of my stomach.
I need to do better. I need to study more, ace the psych test, lose weight (get to 100 lb), know my dance routines better, perform my solo better, keep my bathroom cleaner, organize my tee shirt drawer because the stacks got messed up.
Nothing I ever do will be good enough for me. In some ways, I despise my mother for drilling this into my head. But I most of all hate myself for letting her, for letting myself become this hyper-anxious OCD freak.
I can't cry. Thats weak.But then again, I've been a weakling all along.
I'm so screwed. All I want to do is graduate from high school. I have to take online classes because going to school made me throw up every morning from nerves, then hyperventilate all day, hearing the sensory black hole of NOISE. Everywhere, so loud, snippets of others lives. Plus, you know, I was invisible girl. No one ever made eye contact or bothered to say hello even when I said it first. Hell, I'm getting off topic.
I don't know how I'm going to finish this semester running on fumes. I don't want to go to Rogers Hospital for some 4 week program to reprogram my brain. That sounds horrific. They tell me it might be my only option. At 18 at least I get final vote.
I feel like clawing my skin off. Am I extra crazy or is that normal?
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