I don’t know how to start. I don’t know how to begin. Nothing – nothing – helps. I have no therapy, no calm, nothing I can retreat to without worries. I’m sick – so sick – of feeling everything at once. It’s all inside me, all inside me, sometimes the good stronger then the bad and sometimes the other way around. I feel guilty, all the time, because someone’s helping me or I yelled or I did something wrong. I love myself; I hate myself. I hate school, I hate people, I hate everything – and then I love school, I love people, I love everything. I’m in a constant roller coaster filled with HUGE hills and loops, going so fast I can’t breathe.
There are times when suddenly I’ll just panic, just panic and still have to function, to smile. And what I feel is what I feel – when the good’s stronger, it’s stronger. When the bad’s stronger, it’s stronger. It hurts. It hurts when my mom says I’m a liar, or I’m “turning into a horror”. That hurts. It hurts my feelings, and the “I feel” statements don’t help. I don’t know how to say them. I don’t know how to say anything anymore. I’ve lost my voice.
It’s so hard to share things with people now. And I keep thinking – that’s my problem, always thinking – about things. I’m not shallow, and whenever I am honestly self-centered I feel awful. So I think, and I think, and I can’t get my mind off of it because it won’t let go.
Maybe the nothing helps is a lie. It helps. Writing helps, reading helps, helping other people helps – but then something happens, something profound or it stops or whatever, and it hurts all over again. I feel sick all the time. There’s something ill in my soul.
And I’m terrified. You don’t know how terrified; you can never know how terrified. I’m terrified of reaching something good; of medicine and mental diseases. All I see, all of a sudden all I see, is everything awful. It’s like good is bad, and bad is worse. I want to be perfect, and I don’t care at the same time.
“Why aren’t you in IB? That’s where all the smart kids – top of the line – go.” My English teacher told me that. I wanted a faster curriculum – something, something, that wouldn’t actually leave me bored. But I’ll still be bored in English – I may be Honors, but I’ll always be ahead of the other kids. It’s my subject. I live in my writing, my reading. If you found everything I’ve ever written, and you were smart and deep, you could piece together everything. You could figure out what I can’t say, not even here, because sometimes there are not words.
Sometimes there isn’t a fix. Sometimes it just gets worse and worse. Math is awful – so awful – and I wish it could just go away. That I could stop taking it.
Do I or don’t I want to go to college? It’s like college is a factor of math. If I don’t have to take math – or maybe not very much of it – it’s okay. It’s all okay. Maybe that’s the one thing I really do hate – math. Just thinking about it makes me sick.
And it can’t be a focus. Math isn’t it. Don’t give me your damn advice; screw your intentions, you’re dead wrong. You may have gone on a rollercoaster, you may have had a hundred plus issues, you may see yourself in the words I write, but you have no clue. It doesn’t matter if you’ve shared every experience I’ve had. It’s my issue, and only I can understand.
I miss people – so many people. I miss my dog and my dad, and somehow I’m missing people I never met. Nobody gets it, either. I’m trying to talk, to scream. I’m calling out for help but nobody knows. I don’t know how to say. But it’s not right. I blame them – and I blame myself. But how am I supposed to find the right words?
I’m trying to find sanity – some clarity, something to cling to that’s O.K. – but I can’t. I try and blame my problems on something, but it’s not that. The fact of the matter is I don’t know. I just don’t know. I can’t deal with questions, I can’t deal with being judged. And please – oh gosh, please – don’t hate me. I’m struggling. I’m struggling to love and care and it’s hard. So, so hard.
I don’t know… I want to turn to Heavenly Father, but I don’t. I don’t want to turn to Heavenly Father. My prayer would be silent, would be silent in my thoughts. I’m doubting, so hard, if this is right, if this is really true – and I don’t know. I don’t know how to turn. What if I’m making up feelings? I’m so scared I’m doing that, all the time. What if I was never close to the Spirit? Am I worthy to go to the temple?
Is all this just for attention? Just to be noticed? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m so lost, and confused, and feeling everything at once. I don’t know how to get away. How many times am I going to want to die?
Oh gosh, please nobody act weird. That’ll make it worse – everything makes it worse – but it’d be worse then if people acted normal. I hurt, all over and everywhere. I get so upset I make myself sick. I’m tired – all I want to do, all the time, is go to bed. Just sleep. Just sleep until I die.
Do I want to die? Do I want to die at fourteen – nearly fifteen – years old? I don’t know. Two months to fifteen, and I don’t know if I want to live or die.
I just want to be okay. That’s all I know – I want to be okay. I want to feel things, once or twice at a time, not everything at once, all contradicting itself.
How do I free myself from a trap that’s inside an infinite amount of traps? Life is a trap, sadness is a trap, death is a trap, happiness feels like a trap. Giving up – letting things happen as they happen – feels like a trap. It takes courage to do anything but give up, walk like a zombie. It takes courage to kill yourself – a misplaced courage, I’m aware. A wrong courage – but courage all the same. It takes courage to live – a bright courage, a light courage.
But I don’t have courage. I’m scared of giving up. So everything traps me. I’m stuck in a corner, surrounded by monsters. I’m in a cage, and slowly it’s being bricked up while the maze completes itself, and it’s only dead ends.