It’s interesting. People SI for lots of reasons, depression being most prominent in the list. Can it be called depression if a person isn’t really sad, just angry at things?  Probably not. What if this person, someone totally uninteresting, wasn’t depressed about their awful little life, but angry at it? This completely plain and basic person might SI, not because they are sad, or because they cry, or because they fought with their mother or broke up with the person that they are dating,  but because they truly hate themselves. They might dislike themselves enough to wish to cause the object of their anger extreme injury. And if a person was walking through a store and saw a girl wearing a tee shirt that said something interesting, and this person were to google it, and see that it links to a site that is all for preventing self harm, then, well! Perhaps this person might look at thier scars and say to themselves, “Hm. Does this apply to me?” Maybe it does. Maybe such a person should seek help.  Even though this person is not at all unique or special enough to bother saving.  It just makes this person feel bad, I suppose, to see  and read about all these people who truly want to be better, and to feel nothing except a little disgust and a desire to SI. So perhaps this person goes to comment on one of these posts, and realizes that they cannot do this until they make a commitment. Sign up, they say. So, this person does, then thinks, well, since I’m here already… And goes to write a completely uninteresting and worthless pile of too many words, trying to sort out some feelings, and ends up even more confused and now, even more behind on their homework than they would have been if they had never googled that tee shirt out of boredom to begin with.

Hello, my name is nothing. I have no face, so no one can recognize me. People know who I am by the marks on me. Poetic, isn’t it? Things I do because I am not special, inherently make me slightly more unique. More undesirable, yes, but also more interesting. More ugly and sick and damaged and empty and shaking and laughing and angry. And still, I’m not very interesting.  Never interesting enough.

I admire all of you, at least you’re trying. Using your euphemisms and crying out and avoiding triggers. Getting help and telling your problems. I’m a miserable failure, even in my miserable failures. I’m just writing now because I know that as soon as I stop, I’m going to do something that we’ve all done that will make me feel so much better. I’m laughing now. Thinking about these things always gets me a little hysterical.

Before I go, I’ll say a little about myself by way of explanation: I have no name, and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. I’ve SI’d for several years now, since I was a junior in High School. I am female. I am in College. My ears are ringing from lack of sleep. I love you all very much, and I am still stalling, because I don’t really want to go do what I know I’m going to do.

Well, enough stalling. I will probably never, ever get on this site again, because I truly do not have any intention of seeking help for any of my pathetic issues. All of this was just an anonymous vent from a person who is able to tell the truth because I will never see your faces judge me. I don’t care if you judge me in your words, because I will never hear them. Do what you want. Hate me. I know I do.