Copyright Gwenny

Well I really had no idea where to start this so I thought I would get you a passage from my diary. A couple of months after I started self-harming:

28/11/03 15:07pm

I miss him so much. Now they’ve moved and I can’t go face my fears and go see his room.

The day it happened, I remember I just wanted to run to his room and see him, to tell him I love him. I just wanted to run in there and see that he actually was alive.

I would give anything for him to be alive.

Why is my life so screwed up? Why have I got this shit life when some people have these perfect little lives?

Why do I always have to lose someone, just as I’m getting close to them? Just like me an Gav were becoming better cousins.

Every time I listen to Linkin Park now I think of him.

And I wish I could just go to the graveyard. I just need to go to be alone. I’ve asked mum and dad to take me but they just make up excuses and just keep putting it off.

I want to be happy again. I can’t remember the last time I was ever truly happy, and there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is sit there like a fucking dumbass and take all the shit life throws at me.

I hate my life. I hate being ridiculed. I hate being judged, I just hate me.

That was when I was really bad, my cousin had died a few months earlier, and my friend killed himself two years earlier.

I won’t lie and say I had a bad childhood, because I didn’t. It was really good. But from about year two upward, I don’t know, everything just went downhill. People started dying, and not slowly either, I was looking at one death per year. That’s pretty bad for a seven year old to handle.

When my cousin died I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore and one day dad’s picture fell off the wall, sending broken glass everywhere. And when he wasn’t looking I pocketed a few pieces and went off to school. There it was even worse. I hated people asking if I was OK, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I just drew that glass over my left arm and from there, there was no turning back.

My parents did find out. One day when I was at a friend’s house mum went through my room and when I came back she asked to see my arms and that’s when they knew and my whole life changed. I went to see a few counsellors. None worked. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask mum to take me to the doctor, and there she diagnosed depression. I was put on Lovan 20 and that’s where I’ve been ever since.

I don’t cut as often as I did, but when I do, it’s bad. And I hate myself for doing it. But I try. And that’s good enough for me.

I see girls nowadays that do it just because and I get so mad at them. But I guess they will learn, unfortunately, the hard way.


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