Drowning

My therapist is trying to help me, she asks about my insecurities, she asks when I have anxiety most, how my depression has been. Then she asks the two questions no one truly wants to answer, especially not me. She asks if I’ve had thoughts of attempting suicide, I freeze processing the question. How am I supposed to answer, I can’t tell the truth, it’s too risky I don’t want to go to a psychiatric hospital, I say no. She then asks if I’ve harmed myself in the past year, if so how did I hurt myself. This question nearly hurts more than the last, the truth is I have, many times, in many ways. But I can’t tell her that, I could once again risk being put in a hospital, I don’t want that, so I lie, again.

The lies keep building up, I do have suicidal thoughts, nearly every day in fact, and I have harmed myself. My mom keeps asking how cuts show up on my arm, that ones simple, blades, but what she thinks is pets or accidents like falling on the ground.

Then there’s the less simple injuries, my knuckles, I get so angry with myself, with life, that sometimes I just need to punch something so hard over, and over, and over again till they bleed.

And then there’s the other injuries, the complicated ones, last month my hand was fractured, three bones were broken in my hand. When that happened I was home alone (that’s already not a good thing) I had a smooth painted rock in my hand, I was thinking, I was thinking something that wouldn’t go away, “everyone hates me” I thought, “ nobody pays attention or cares” I keep thinking, then I thought “what if I give them something to care about”. The thoughts were so invasive, and the rock was still in my hand, so I just did it, I slammed the rock in my hand once and it hurt, but not enough, so I did it again, and again, and again till I couldn’t move my hand, it was swollen, red, and bruised everywhere, the pain hurt but I loved it, I loved the feeling. Then shit, it hit me, what am I going to tell my mom, and she was going to be home in like 20 minutes, I panicked and texted my mom I fell down the stairs and slammed my hand in the railing, and she believed me. And long story short it was fractured and I had three broken bones, I wore a cast on it for a little over a month, and people cared and gave me attention, but soon enough, the attention ended.

I'm not an attention seeker, so don't think that. I just struggle with how my head works sometimes, my way to cope is pain, and only pain, the thoughts get too impulsive to resist and the pain just helps me feel something, it's one of the only times I feel, and it makes I feel good. Also, the pain causes people to care and it makes me feel important.

Sometimes I feel like all I need is to feel loved, or at least just cared for, but I'm young, 16 to be exact, and people who want love and not just sex are hard to find. When did people stop being so sincere? When you're young you love everyone, and when you're in between young and old love is weird to you, and when you're in high school it's just sex, sex, and sex, and so very rarely it's an actual relationship, but those are so uncommon that most of the people who want a relationship are taken, just my luck.

Now, this whole story isn't just a sob story, it's not all just sad, this is only my beginning, the beginning of what I thought was gonna get better, but what got worse, so much worse.