I’m not okay anymore.

How my mother is still married to my father is beyond me.

When me and my sister used to sit around and talk about their divorcee and who would go with who we weren’t fucking around cause even back then he was a fucking douche.

And he’s only gotten worse as we’ve gotten older. He’s literally a giant fucking asshole to us, he’s sarcastic and rude and has tremendous temper problems, he takes everything out of proportion and he doesn’t care about your feelings in the process, he can never be wrong and will fight you until the end of time to prove he is right, even if he’s 100% not. He’s honestly the biggest dick, the biggest asshole, and the biggest jerk I have ever come across in my life.

I would never be with someone who was that insensitive to my feelings and to others. I would never be with someone who treats people the way he treats us. I would never be with someone who was so full of themselves.

I don’t understand my mother, I don’t understand how he’s the most liked in his family and I don’t understand why when I say I don’t like my father when other people come back saying he’s the best man they’ve ever met. Cause he’s the worst one I’ve met. 

I should be so happy. 
I really should be. 
Tomorrow is the last day of exams for me, all I have to do after my exam is type up a two-page response to a question and send it off. And I’m done. Then it’s summer, and I can focus on work and friends and saving up for Harlow.
And I’m so excited about Harlow, I really am, when I talk about it and plan things I’m truly happy for that time. But every other time of day is hard. I just want to sleep and wake up away from here.
I’m so depressed all the time, and it’s honestly making me more upset. When I went through this depression years ago, I had a fucking reason. I was bullied and assaulted and hurt and beaten down and being tested all the time for cancer, I had a fucking reason to want to die. What’s my reason now? I don’t want to be home? That’s not a reason, that’s every person who doesn’t get along with their parents. I honestly don’t have a reason anymore yet I’m depressed, and not having a reason makes me more upset because I don’t understand why I’m not happy.
I should be so so so happy. And I’m so far from happy. 
My friends know I’m struggling at home, sure, but they don’t know that I sit in my room and contemplate if I’ll leave it that day. They don’t know that I have to scream into a pillow and cry until I’m so tired that I have to sleep so I restrain from cutting myself, because if I cut they’ll notice and I can’t have them noticing, or they’d stop me and once I start I don’t know if I can stop. They don’t know that I have pain killers just sitting on my desk begging me to down them liked I did back in high school. I tired to OD on many occasions and though never successful, that was because I didn’t know what exactly to take. But I do know now. I know exactly what combinations I could mix that would knock me out or give me a high or potentially kill me. And I have to again restrain myself because I don’t actually want to die. I just….
I want it to all stop. I want the stress to stop. I want the anger to stop. I want the pain to stop. I want the past to stop being a memory. 
I can’t remember half my childhood, I honestly don’t know why; maybe I’m blocking things out for a reason or maybe I did smoke way too much weed in middle school to be able to recall anything but I wish I didn’t remember my teenage years. I wish everything before I was 17 suddenly faded away like my childhood and I only remembered the dumb things like a book I read or one rainy day when I sat at home and counted the seconds between thunder and lightening. 
I want to forget every fucking shitty thing I’ve been through. And you know, I don’t ever want to compare myself to others shitty lives because you don’t know what someone has been through but it’s safe to say that I’ve been through the damn ringer. I’ve been through so much fucking shit that I didn’t deserve, and I’m so sick of remembering any of it. I don’t want to kill myself and give people the satisfaction that I did what half of them want me to, but I don’t know if I want to grow old anymore. That’s why I honestly feel so fucked up. I am so fucking fucked up,
You know how you day dream about what you’d do with 1 million dollars or what life would be like with your current crush? I day dream of getting diagnosed with cancer finally, or being hit by a car and surviving, or being raped again and put into the hospital. I day-dream of the most morbid fucking shit, and I don’t know why. 
I guess I half know why. I’d like to see who actually gives a shit about my well being in life. I’d like to see who would come visit me in a hospital if they knew I’d been hit by a car or brutally assaulted or diagnosed with a serious disease and needed life saving surgery or something. 
I’d like to see who really cares. And I’d like to see what life would be like when they all get a fright that I might have actually died. Maybe the pain would stop for a bit. Maybe I’d actually feel loved other then this empty pit of nothing. I feel nothing but pain and sadness and wanting. I want so bad to actually feel like people care about me, and I honestly never do anymore. 
I know my friends love me, and I know my family loves me, but I just don’t feel it anymore. I don’t feel like I’m actually truly cared for. Like, if I died tomorrow, yeah they’d be sad but not devastated, kind of the sad you feel when a character you like in a movie dies. It saddens you, and maybe you cried when it happened, but oh well, they’re gone and it’s oh well. That’s how I feel everyone would feel. But the thing is, is that I know differently.  That’s what’s so fucked up. I know that’s what wouldn’t happen, I know people would be very fucking upset if I died, but I don’t feel it. I feel like I’m that friend that you have around because you have no one else at the time, but you could drop me at any second and not care. I’m that family member that no one really likes but they tolerate around the holidays because it’s family. 

I just want to stop being so fucked up.

It’s not that I’m depressed in the same way I was years ago, cause I’m doing much better since then. I don’t want to die, I just want a change and I’m stuck in this rut and I can’t get out and I need a distraction so I can’t breathe.
The little things start to build up and they become the big things. I need to move out but there’s no way I can afford that right now and I also don’t want to move out by myself so it’s not possible for at least a year.
But my parents are the problem. Yes, they love me and provide for me but that doesn’t mean I can live with them. I can’t escape their shit. Their irritating shit. I can’t go a day without being pissed off and more then likely criticized for some choice ive made in life that day. I don’t know how to handle them anymore. They treat me like my past never happened and that’s not okay. I don’t need sympathy or anything but I so need understanding.

I don’t want to feel pain anymore. But to stop feeling this pain I would have to die. I don’t want to die. I just want it all to stop.

I never thought of rape as sex. I never associate losing my virginity with when I was assaulted. My friends all have mixed versions of my “first time.” Half of them think it was my night with Fred, which was the next time I had sex. It was the first time I chose to have sex so I believe that was when I lost my virginity, because it was when I was ready. My friends from high school all believe it was Collin, because I couldn’t handle telling them I decided my “first time” to be with Fred, when I was wasted at a party, so they think Fred was a random one night stand long after Collin. No one truly knows exactly when I lost it but me. And then I told becs and es. They know now, and…talking about it…telling people…I’ve never said it out loud until that night. And talking about it never made it better. Reliving my past doesn’t make anything better. It fucked me up. I’m fucked up. What that guy took from me wasn’t my virginity. He took my dignity, he took my innocence…he took my happiness. But my virginity is my own to give away, it’s not something someone can take from me. So I lost my virginity when I was wasted at a St. Patricks Day party, to a guy named Fred, in a girl named Megan’s bed, while she was in it. That’s the story I’d tell my kids and future partner because that was my drunken decision to have sex, and I’m damn proud of that memory. I don’t associate my rape with my virginity because it simply isn’t. I was raped at 15. But I lost my virginity at 17, because I chose to have sex, I chose to sleep with Fred.

I’ve always done something to help with whatever I’m going through. Not a good something. 
When I started to not be able to handle the bullying I began to smoke weed and drink. I was 13.
Loving billy who would hit me if I looked like id gained weight over the week, I eventually stopped eating. I was 14.
Not eating didn’t last very long as that was the only thing my parents noticed different about me and they made me eat every meal and helped me back on that track.
When I was sexually abused, I started to cut along with drinking and smoking. I was 15. 

I was in so much pain and the burning cuts on my arm would help ease the pain for a little while, and the alcohol would make me forget for a little while, and the weed would help me stop crying for a little while.
When it went so far and I almost took my life, my parents noticed then. And I went to the hospital. I went into therapy. I got help.
I stopped cutting. The scars even started to go away. It’s been 5 years and you can barely see them.
I was still in pain but I no longer needed the cuts or the booze to get past it, I was stronger.
But, something’s changed in me. I don’t know what it is. I’m in the best place I’ve ever been in my life right now, I’ve never been happier. But I guess that’s not the same as being actually happy.
I feel pointless. What am I doing here? Why do I exist? What’s the point?
I keep getting overcome with these waves of sadness. I haven’t had a suicidal attempt or serious thought in 5 years. Until this year. Until a few weeks ago when I broke down crying and I pondered the thought of actually killing myself again. Until these past few weeks when booze started to become essential once more. Until a few minutes ago when I craved that burning sensation on my arms…and it’s back now. And for a few minutes I feel okay. I feel a little peaceful. But how long will that last?

I think about death a lot.
When the bullying got so bad in middle school and high school and I tired to take my life, it felt different then. I felt the need to die because I was unhappy and alone. I was abused inside and outside of school. I was told I was a whale, a whore, I was shunned by my peers, I was completely isolated. So I reached out to the only people I could, guys. They assumed I was a whore and I let them. I went to parties and drank away any feeling I could. I let them take advantage of me. When I was held down and cried during sex, when I was raped, I was so drunk I couldn’t form the word “no.” I regret that every day. And I wanted to die, and I tried to, and I got help.
I decided to move away and distance myself from everyone I ever knew. To this day I only speak to 3 people from before university. I continued to have abusive relationships post high school, I was emotionally scarred and still am. I find it extremely difficult to be with a guy sober. I find it difficult to be sober honestly. I recently got alcohol poisoning and I should take a break and breathe and let myself heal a bit, but I want to drink, and I want to smoke.
I’m not alone anymore, I have amazing friends and my parents are getting better at supporting me and my choices in life, but I’m so depressed and I don’t know why.
I’m constantly fighting the urge to jump in front of a car. I keep thinking what would happen if I let myself fall down the stairs, would my neck break? Would I die? Do I care? No, I don’t.
I don’t want to die all the time, I have things to look forward to in life and I have people who love me and that I love too. But it’s becoming hard again. I’m eating less, I’m sleeping more, and I’m consuming enough alcohol for a year every weekend. My friends don’t know I’m feeling this way, but I don’t know how to tell them. I always feel like such a burden to everyone.
Rebecca said something the other night, she said “Man, you’ve been dealt a shitty deal.”
I haven’t. I’ve done this to myself. I never dieted and because of that I was told how fat I am. I choose to stop eating and I knew the consequences to that. I’m still suffering those. I wasn’t the whore, but enough rumors went around saying I was that I lived up to it. I never wanted to be forced into sex, but I never reported it or told anyone about it, so that’s on me too. I continue to be in abusive relationships, no longer physical because the bruises become hard to explain, but emotional ones? Stephen said I was so fat I was going to die of a heart attack. Brad laid on me and said I was like a bean bag chair. I can’t even look at myself in a mirror. I did this to myself and I can barely handle it.
I feel like I’m going to break soon and I don’t know what to do.

I’m so unhappy with the way I look and dieting never helps because I either eat nothing or everything and there’s no inbetween.

I’ve been accepted into Harlow and I could not be happier. I’m still going to California and I’m going to try really hard to loose weight for myself to be able to feel confident going away.
On the other note, Brad wants to be fuck friends. While he’s dating her. I kinda don’t care? Like I’m sexually frustrated anyways so I mean why not.