Intense

If you read my last post, you know that I’m going through a lot right now, and that really isn’t all of the drama, but some things that have been going on aren’t my problems to say but the problems of those around me and how its hurting me. I didn’t want to say this in my last post but I think I should share it as a way of getting it off of my shoulders. During the very dark period of my depression, I wrote a suicide letter that I was going to leave by my bed before I killed myself. The phase passed before I acted on that dark impulse. I’m not sure why, but I never deleted the letter. When things recently got overwhelming again and I relapsed into depression, I came so close to printing out the note and finally ending my life. This time I was too angry to realize how I would hurt those around me, so I added another hateful paragraph. I’m not going to say some dopey thing about how ‘I’ve seen the light’ and that I’m never going to kill myself, because I honestly don’t think it’s the kind of promise I can make at this point in my life. Yeah, I’ll get over this round of depression, but what about the next time? Or the time after that? Who am I to say that I know I’m going to be strong enough to face my obstacles? Only god knows how long I’m going to be here. So as part of the sharing process, I’ll paste in my letter. Please know that I don’t mean a lot of what I wrote and if you are someone I’m very close to, I suggest that you don’t read it, I don’t want to make you upset.

I’m done. I just can’t handle this. I’m a screw up and I will be my entire life, so why continue the charade that I’ll move over this? I’m this dark cloud that is ruining the lives of those around me, so it’s probably for the best if I remove myself from your society. I can’t write that I’ll miss you all because I hope that I won’t because I want to move on and be in a happier place free from regret, misery, and stupidity. I’ve always been that kind of forgettable person, so I urge that you just forget about me and live better, happier lives. I’m deeply sorry for what I’ve done, and I’m sorry I couldn’t apologize for it before my death but I just could never say the words with my mouth, so I say them here with this keyboard.

I didn’t want to guilt trip anyone but I don’t want people to be asking “why did she kill herself?” I’ll tell you why. I made mistakes, we all do, but I made the mistake of never learning from mine, and for that I take most of the blame for my need to die, but there are people out there who share the blame. I blame Grandma Snow for fucking up my mother’s childhood, and consequently fucking up my mom’s entire life. I know that’s she’s dead, but I don’t care. She was a fucking slut with no fucking clue on how to raise children. Next, I blame my mother. She knows that she needs to see a therapist but she just won’t and that makes me so miserable. She’s always saying how her mother made her life miserable, well you know what mom? You made my life miserable. You’re mean, rude, and ignorant. The rest of the blame that isn’t taken by me, my mother, or her mother, belongs to the entire fucking world. Your corruption, your hate, your cruelty has made a generation of fucking arrogant, stupid, dipshits. I’m so glad that I finally can stop being so worried, so nervous, so depressed, so… everything but happy. I need to make my final rest. Goodbye.

I’m sorry if I offended anyone in that letter. I wish you could understand how I felt/feel, but then again, I would never ever ever ever wish this kind of self-torture even on the devil himself. There are a lot of things that I would have taken out and some things I should have said, so part of me is glad that I haven’t done anything irrational as of yet. I don’t want to die, with this horrible paper as the last thing I wrote. I would at least like to go out with a bang and have people admire what I wrote. Sorry, that was a very sick thing for me to have written. I’m so glad that none of my family knows about my blog, or else they would send me to the crazy house. I’m not crazy, I just have a mental imbalance. I didn’t want this to be disturbing, just informative and enlightening as to the current way I see life. So on a scale of 1 to 20, where 1 is where I was already dead from suicide and 20 being that I think I’m going to explode from joy, I’d say I’m at like a 2.5 That’s a much better improvement from the 1.1 I was a couple of days ago. My goal for the end of this year is to reach the seven, or eight mark, but I’m not going to hold my breath for something like that.

I don’t want to over-do the whole suicide talk, so I’m going to start writing an essay that is due on Friday for my English class.

-bye.

p.s. maybe i'll go check out the twloha site later...