I've hit a wall. I don't think there's long left of Brittany now. She's nearly over. I'm not even going to try. I'm worthless. I'm a friend to lean on and then be forgotten, I'm someone to make you happy when I can't be happy myself. When was the last fucking time I was happy? You know you're in trouble when you can't remember the last time the thought of killing yourself wasn't at the forefront of your mind. I can see why I didn't want to grow up last year. This was obvious. It was going to happen. It's going to happen. This lasting a year thing.. yeah, that resolution is kaput. When no-one even cares any more and when the only thing keeping you tied to the earth are people that value you but not your life, you need to go.
Depression has never made me angry before. Today it has, and last night too. But at the moment I've come to a point of acceptance. I'm never going to be helped. The good isn't worth the bad, it pales in comparison.
I can't drag myself up. I can't, and no-one else can do it for me. I give up.I'm crying. I'm torn, I'm broken. Bits of me that have been coping are now strewn all about, and they can't work without being attached. When I cry, I'm not crying. I can't breathe. My sobs get caught in my throat now, and for a few seconds, it feels like that's how I'm going to die. Red faced and wet faced, tears still running. An ugly Picasso, disjointed features and colours.
I want to have normal teenage concerns. I want to worry about a boy, or worry about school work, or be annoyed at parents, or about petty teenage fights. I want that pain, I want to throw this away. But I'm stuck with this and will be forever. That's the only forever that exists now. the certainty that happiness is something that will come into my life briefly, and flare out again, to be replaced by long, dark holes of loneliness and solitude and gut wrenching pain. Give me the pain back of a child. I want to graze my knee and cry at the sight of blood. Physical pain doesn't matter. break all my limbs, crack my skull open. I want to feel something other than THIS.How on earth can I keep living like this? This isn't living, it's dying, and slowly, and more painfully than I could have ever imagined.
Let me go. Let me die. I need to, it's the only escape I have.
There's no fucking reason for it, I don't need to explain it, it's just what I'm feeling. And if there's no reason, how can I stop this? I'm not going to bother explaining any more. Who am I? I don't want to hurt people, anything but, but it's the only choice I have. I'm killing myself, and whether I do that slowly or quickly is going to depend on me. I am not a good person. I am anything but. And I don't deserve the opinion of anyone who thinks I am, because they're wrong.
The only thing that's been there for me, that's understood me all this way, is my depression. And it's killing me.