I'm making this journal post here because I am terrified of the responses I might get if I were to say this on Facebook, the judgement I know would come from friends and family. I'm taking what little solace I can in my relative anonymity here, though I still fear what might be said in the comments. My mind is already rattling through all the "Oh my God"s, "Everything will be okay"s, and "You should/shouldn't do this or that"s; I know already. I've heard all these things thousands of times before, and I don't need to be told again. I want everyone to shut the fuck up and listen for a change...
And yet at the same time, I know I'll be crushed if I don't see any comments at all.
Double-edged sword of depression: everything feels wrong.
I have to put this into words, because it's the only thing keeping me from putting it into action. It's horrifying that I'm even thinking these things, and my rational brain is fighting vehemently against even mentioning these thoughts. My knowledge of psychology is working against me. But something has to be done. I have to tell someone, even if that someone is the vague mass of faceless, unknown watchers I have here, what few I do have who actually read my journals, the fewer still who ever bother to comment on anything. God, is it even worth it, when I can already predict the meager results?
I've gotten this far, so I may as well continue. I'll try to be clear, insomuch as my current emotional/mental state will let me.
I want to bleed.
I really can't get into the details of why I feel this way, mostly because I don't fully understand them myself. At this moment, I am feeling extremely unwanted, not so much a burden on anyone, but simply superfluous in my existence. I'm not needed where I am, it makes no difference whether I'm here or elsewhere. Or nowhere at all. And when I do make the mistake of trying to make my presence known, it is made more than clear to me that I should have never said anything at all in the first place. I've been told that I am broken. Not in those words, of course, but in words enough. I've been told by people I considered family that I'm not wanted here. I can't go back to where I was either, but I'm not even sure which is worse anymore.
On the subject of bleeding again: I've been thinking about ways to go about it. Please, don't panic. Like I said, I'm writing this in lieu of doing. I have a letter opener I've used before, but it's dull, as are to few knives in my room. They aren't for skin anyway. I don't trust the knives in the kitchen, although my sharpest ones are there and would cut more cleanly. The trouble is getting them, using them, and cleaning them before anything is noticed. Also problematic is the lack of suitable bandages for after the fact, and depending on how deep, clean up if any blood gets where it shouldn't. I'd need to hide everything afterwards, so no one would know. The only blessing of winter are the necessary long sleeves that would help with the cover up.
My hands are freezing right now, and I'm shaking, both from cold and crying. I've made promises not to cut, but nothing is making the pain go away. I've spent the past half an hour or so curled on the floor, unable to function, thinking about this. I started wondering what it would be like to be able to go to sleep and never have to wake up. Yes, I know how horrible that sounds. Psychology 101: never analyze yourself, but it's impossible not to. Worse was wondering how long I could sleep if I finished off the box of sleep aid in my medicine cabinet (it's about 2/3 full). That would probably make me very sick, at best, deathly cold at worst. Terrible pun, I know. I don't think it's funny either.
I want to be invisible or just make the rest of the world go away. When I want attention, no one's there anyway, and even when there is... all they have to say is what wrong I've done now. I feel like I can't do anything right. Not even exist.
Rest assured, I at least have enough grasp of my senses not to act on any of these very disturbing thoughts I've had, but that doesn't change the fact that I've had them, and somewhere in the haze, a part of me does want to act.
That is the most terrifying thought of all.
Please, I ask any of you who have read this far... don't judge me. If you do, please don't tell me. I'm already broken. I don't know how many more cracks I can sustain before I shatter entirely. I feel my grasp of my senses is weakening, but this... this is the only risk I can take. I don't know what will happen if it turns out I was wrong to take it...