I feel like I’m this major disappointment to EVERYONE…even God.
I was reading my most recent journal that I keep (I’ve filled several over the past 1.5 years), and I was surprised at what’s really going through my mind all the time. You know, sometimes you don’t quite see what you’re really thinking? Well, it’s that way with me.
In almost EVERY SINGLE ONE of my entries, I’m talking to God, asking Him if I’m a disappointment, and how I MUST be to everyone, and Him. Here’s a piece from one of my entries:
February 22, 2009
“I look at these [injuries], and I ask myself what they mean. What’s their purpose and place in life? Are we scars? Am I a scar? A[n] [injury] in the skin of the world? Am I a fake release of endorphins? Or a sudden rush of adrenaline and pain? You know, I think everyone would just like it if I’d kept pretending that I was fine. Now, they look at me like I’m some showcase of the effect of life’s turmoil and abuse. They like masks. Who can blame them? Masquerade balls are fun…right up to the point you find out who you were really dancing with…”
One of my best friends, Rachael, called me at, like, 10 o’clock last night worried sick because I wasn’t at school. “Are you okay?! Where were you?!” When I told her that I was sick, she released a giant sigh, and said, “Whew, okay. Just checking.”
She really thought I’d gone too far.
I told her that I wouldn’t do something drastic. She goes, “….okay..” Yep, she doubts me. I can’t blame her…sometimes I doubt myself! But I don’ want to die. I really really really don’t. Yes, I want relief and peace, but I don’t know FOR SURE, for FACT, what you get when you die. So, I’m not going to risk it!
She told me she talked to her aunt (who’s an RN, or something) about places to call for SI therapy and stuff, and she has a few numbers. AND she’s going to call them for me. I was relieved with that. But, I’m SO scared that one of those “numbers” is going to force her to tell them all of my information (name, address, school, whatever), and it’ll all happen like it always has.
You know, I’ve been terrified that I’m going to be forced into some mental hospital. Nowadays, I think I really don’t care. I’m quite apathetic to it all, really. I mean, people can scream, hit, kick, abandon, whatever to me. I don’t care anymore. I’m sure they can’t do worse than what I could do to myself.
Maybe that’s why I injure. Control. Heh…I don’t even know why I do what I do. Another weird thing about me..
Well, I’ve written enough.