Lena K


Copyright, Lena K

Today was the first day I drew blood. Marking the date 2005-04-12. I’ve been depressed since 7th grade. I honestly thought it was a phase, and who knows, it might be. But today was a very difficult day. For the last few months it’s not been uncommon for me to cry before I fall asleep. I don’t have any terribly good reasons. I have the usual little problems, parents divorcing, school, and friends. I don’t mind the divorce only that they are taking five years to do it, and dragging it out. School is hard right now, I just moved again but this time to a really hard school. I don’t want to complain, it’s a great school. Everyone is smart, somewhat good-looking, and has a car. I have low A’s and B’s except for a D in math; but that’s another story. I just don’t feel up to scale with these people. I used to make friends pretty easy, I’d meet three or four people who were interested in me for some reason. But now I’m older and everyone here is so talented that I really am nothing more than a stain on someone’s shoe. It doesn’t help that I haven’t seen my best friend in two years. When I moved last year (I’ve moved two times in the last two years) she moved too. Now she lives too far away for me to see her any time other than summer. She’s changed too. She’s getting smarter, prettier, more popular. I am staying the same. I don’t know what it is. Something just doesn’t feel right. I have time now days just to think. It started out as a good thing, but that’s my real problem. It’s become such an obsession that I unconsciously do it everywhere I go. I just start thinking about everything going on, evaluating, just random thoughts. I’ve thought over and over again about the “meaning of life” and honestly aside from pleasure (emotional, physical, spiritual) there isn’t anything else that people live for. No matter what it is that makes you happy, it’s pleasure in the end. It isn’t a bad thing, but I’ve lost taste for the world I live in. I’m so tired all the time. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I thought I could do that today. I read a comic last night that dealt with the issue. Even though it had a happy ending with “suicide is stupid” I couldn’t put that feeling down. It just hit so close to home that I cried for an hour. I spent all of today planning. I thought it would be so easy. Just like in the book. I’d slit my wrists and then dip them in water to keep the blood from clotting. I’ve scratched my wrists twice in my entire life. This isn’t a habit for me. I only get really mad every few years. The last time I remember hurting myself was when my parents made my best friend cry. It was petty, but seeing my best friend upset by my own flesh and blood made me so mad. But I couldn’t do anything. So I took it out on myself. We lived in a cheap duplex with a thin carpet over that cement floor that most one story places have. I flipped up all my furniture, which was only my bed and stuffed animals. But it didn’t work. I couldn’t get rid of that feeling in my chest. I felt like I was going to suffocate if I didn’t bash it out. I was so caught up in everything that I started bashing my head on the floor. After a few minutes I got dizzy and stopped. That’s the extent of my tantrums that I can remember. I had a bloody head that made my parents freak. I told them I didn’t know what it was. But that gave me such a feeling of power. But it came at too high a cost. I don’t like pain, it’s become a phobia for me in the last few years. I didn’t do anything like that ever again. When I started failing some classes again in freshman year of high school I wanted to end it so bad. By that time this weird feeling had come back without any real damn good reason. I couldn’t cut my wrists though. I dropped the scissors after a few tiny dots of blood sat on my wrist. I couldn’t hurt myself that much. I felt like a wimp. And that guilt hasn’t gone away. This morning I thought I was over it. I planned all day and when I got home I was lucky that nobody was there. I got out a brand new razor and went to the bathroom. I only got up to write “Sorry Sophie”. I couldn’t leave my best friend without a goodbye. I made my first cut listening to the same song that I have been listening to for three days. It stung but it was so deep that I sat there and stared at it for a while. I was amazed that I could accomplish that much so quickly and on the first try! Then I realised I was wasting precious time. The worst scenario would be to get caught and brought back to life. I am terrified to be put into counselling. It doesn’t work, and I know that I need to get a job if I plan to stick around. So I started cutting. I made four deep cuts when I realised I was too scared. The tub of water I had rested my arm in was yellow. I hadn’t made any progress aside from stressing myself and giving evidence of depression that everyone could see. I cleaned up the mess, but my arm is still very much not healed. I have a ranking exam in a karate club I joined eight weeks ago for anger management and I can’t wear long sleeves. I’ve made the mistake of not finishing what I started and I am gonna end up on the outside again. I’m gonna be pitied and scoffed at. I want to die so much right now, but I know that I can’t do it by my own hand. I have no right to complain about my mostly mediocre life and now I’ve ruined it even more. All I want now is to get rid of that fear of pain. I read in a book that in the year 2000 31.957 people killed themselves in Japan. 84 people every day. If they could do it, why can’t I?


Permanent location: