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the diary of a teenage girl....
this is the journal of how my life was when i was depressed.
if you don`t like that kind of shit, then please leave. if you need help. please read
i`m not crazy. and if you knew me you wouldn't think so either. i just had a tough couple years, and i seemed to take it out like alot of people do. you would think i was a normal teenager. i did mostly what all other teenagers did, and everyone could tell i was "happy" and for one point in my life i thought i was too.I just have bad ways I use to cope with life. Almost anyone can relate to that; whether you yell at people, break things, hurt others, lock all your feelings inside until you explode... you get the picture I hope. It's just that my way of dealing with stuff has me ending up in the emergency room on occasion. Just as people can't handle a broken leg by themselves, others can't handle their feelings alone. I know I needed help. And maybe I still do sometimes. But that does not make someone who self injures any less than who he or she is without that distinction. And with that out of the way, I will continue.
The maddness started my seventh grade year. around febuary. feelings of self-disgust mixed with the numbness of depression, both feeding on my mind. While my body slowly but surely wasted away, I turned to pain to distract myself. Seeing the blood and experiencing all too brief moments of something was what kept me sane for the short while i was in the hospital. During one of the first few nights I spent in a room alone, I got the urge to punish myself. I sat straight up in the darkness, my thin blanket falling to the floor as I pushed it aside and climbed out of bed. Without turning on a light, I searched through the few things i had in my drawers and found some razors. shaving razors so they wern`t that big. and before i could do anything else i cut. i`m not quite sure why, it all happend so fast. and as i sat there regreting what i had done, i watched the blood slowly fall down my wrist and onto my sleeve. it hurt. the pain burned more than i ever thought. my friends acted like it was so easy. it wasn`t. it was hurting all over. i sat there and regret every minute of it. i was in so much pain that i couldn`t remember doing it. i just cried and watch the blood dry on my wrist. hoping it would stop bleeding. after about an hour i fell asleep and when i awoke there was alot of blood on my arm. at first i thought i was dying from blood loss, so i took a shower to wash it all off. they cuts were deep. deep enough to bleed and deep enough to leave a scar. which i still have to this day.
After that first time, I didn't do it again for quite a while. Maybe three weeks. The funny thing was, no one noticed. I made feeble attempts to cover it up, but deep down I wanted someone to see. No one did.
i had to see counsolurs and people that i can`t even spell what they do! i remember going to school the day after i was in the hospital. it was weird. i remember it like it was yesterday though. the halls were quiet and cold. i had came in late because i was too embarassed to see people. i went straight to my locker, tears streaming down my face. i reached for a book out of my locker, when there stood one of my friends. she asked me if i was alright, and told me everyone had heard about what happend the night before. all i could do was shake my head. i couldn`t find the words in my head to tell her what had happend. she saw my wrist, and slowly started to cry. she then walked me to class. i remember sitting in class when i got called to guidence. the counsoler told me she had called my parents to come get me because i needed to see a social worker. i started to cry not knowing what was happining to me.
i saw a social worker that day. her office was cold and dark, and i knew i didn`t want to be there. they called me and my parents back into this dark room with 4 chairs and a desk. i remember her telling me what i did was wrong, and that if i EVER did it again, i would be locked away. locked away? what was that suppose to mean? she gave my parents a bunch of books dealing with teenagers and "suicide". yes suicide. that`s what i was marked under. it was scary and when they put it like that, i was completly regretful. i told my parents i didn`t mean to do it, but they kept a close eye on me for about 3 weeks. which in that time i didn`t cut. i actually went a whole year without cutting. it was amazing and i was happy for once. But towards the end of the year things got going again. I put myself in the emergency room in the summer with stitches at one point. I stayed until three in the morning, and still got up to go to camp the next day, covering the bandages so no one would know.
That was the time I noticed my reasons for hurting myself had changed slightly. It was no longer really a punishment, because I enjoyed doing it. It was more like a way to avoid the hurt, to make myself numb to my emotions by concentrating on something else. And even later still, I cut to actually feel something. Over the period a couple years, I have cut for too many reasons to count. But deep down, they all point to the same fear and belief. I do not like who I am, and until that changes, I will continue to find ways of expressing my hate. iT was weird looking back on that day and knowing what i did. my friends and family looked at me differntly, and i remember some people NOT liking be because of it. i hated it and regreted it totally.
everything was going fine...until my freshman year in high school. to which i am in right now.
my parents, everything about them just screamed to me that they hated me. and it was terrible. i couldn`t sleep at night knowing how much i hated them. i didn`t eat and i just wanted to get away fromt them. at one point i did. i ran away, i had no where to go, i just ran. i came home about 2 hours later. my parents were asleep. hadn`t woken up, they knew nothing. i had ran into the woods somewhere, i had no clue where i was, and i was lucky i could find my way home. i cut for as long as i could remember, i went about 2 weeks one time where i didn`t do it. i was real proud. but then as soon as something happend, i`d cut again. it got to the point where i cut so much there wasn`t any pain. which felt good. no one knew, except maybe my close friends. my parents didn`t know. and i`m glad. i remember the social worker telling me "i`d be locked up". it was stuck in my mind like she said it yesterday.
i remember cutting for like 4 days straight. i had nasty cuts on my arm that wouldn`t go away. some even left scars. i was so scared for myself, yet i coudln`t get the nerve to stop. everyday my friends tired to help. but it was no use, i wouldn`t listen. in a way i wish i had. now i have to deal with scars on my arm, people seeing them, and people knowing about it that i never really wanted them to know. i`m still trying to find a way to stop. i tried writing down everything i felt, but that always made me more depressed, which led to cutting. i regret it every day i see my cuts. but for some reason.....
i just can`t stop... :\