So the title of this post is Death. I have thought about life a lot in my 16 years and 364 days give or take a few. It seems sad how much I have thought about death, and for that matter how little my life mattered to me in the past 6208 days, that sounds short to me. 6208 days is how many days I have been breathing, that is 148,992 hours, well almost. I am going to be 17 in less than 3 hours and I am dreading it so much.
I haven't thought about hurting myself in at least 6 months, that is a massive accomplishment for me. For about four and a half years I wondered what it would be like to die. I thought about ways to kill myself, swallow a handful of pills, slit my wrists, suffocate myself, and drown in a pool of water. I remember there were days when I would be in the bath or a swimming pool and I would just keep my head under and think of what a nice death it would be to drown, I would do this until my body floated to the top, or I couldn't stand not breathing anymore. I become consumed with these thoughts; everyday was a new battle with myself.
I remember having bad birthdays were I would be made to clean the house and wash the dishes because my mum wasn't home and my step father was to fat and lazy to do it. I remember thinking that I couldn't wait until he died, I would pray that he would die of a heart attack or something similar. I was disgusted with myself for having these thoughts, but I had similar towards myself. I wanted vengeance towards anyone who had wronged me.
I hid all of this; no one knew how much hatred and anger I hid behind a mask of innocence. This mask protecting myself, the person who I hated most of all, enough to write a suicide note. I felt more alone then I had ever been before, no one cared for me in my mind. Even having God in my heart didn't seem enough to stop this terrible hatred; that I was feeling towards myself. I was seriously depressed and the worst part was, was that I was afraid to ask anyone for help. I think asking for help is really the first step to getting out of depression. I have never told anyone that I had depression, not even the councillor I saw once, and honestly depression still scares me. I don't feel like hurting myself anymore and I feel happier, but I still have bad days and I think I will keep having them.
I wonder sometimes if as soon as you are happy with your life, if that is when it will end, that maybe it needs to be a battle and when it stops being a battle than you can worry. Being 17 isn't something I am looking forward to because people think I haven't had much life experience when really I have had more life experiences then most people my age and had very little normal teenager experiences just the cruel heart retching life ones. I carry around what has happened in my life like an open wound which is healing slowly, and yet it still has a lot of healing left to do. Like a scar it will always be a part of me, the pain will stop and I will just have a memory of what happened. Unlike a scar though, the whole world can't see it, I am marked from within, on my heart, which may well be the hardest scar of all to heal.
I don't see death as an escape anymore; in fact I don't want to die. I want to grow old, meet someone I love and have kids. I also want to change people's lives, try and help them through my experiences and I believe I can do that through the power of words. Well here is hoping I can anyway. So maybe I will in the next 83 years have many good birthdays, let’s hope it starts with my 17th.
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