an end before a start
ive never written before, but someone i really look up to told me that she thinks everyone should write even if they aren’t good, so that’s exactly what i’ll do, so here’s my little depressed rambles
depression is such a weird feeling, it’s achy and tiresome, but it’s soothing and familiar, i find comfort in my depression sometimes, sometimes it feels like it’s all i’ve ever known. it makes me feel like my life has ended before it’s even gotten the chance to start
i first picked up a blade at 10, it came in a drawing kit, with pencils, colored pencils, and a little exacto knife, i remember when i first got that little drawing kit, i was so excited, my dad bought it for me trying to convince me to live with him, it kind of reminds me of the butterfly effect, that something so innocent as a gift turned into an addiction i haven’t been able to quit for 5 years. i was sitting outside trying to draw a tree i was seeing in real time, looking at every pencil i was given, looking at the organization of every tool, i picked it up looking at the razor feeling the bumps of the exacto’s handle, i remember feeling nervous, but excited, i was thinking to myself “am i really about to do this?”, even then i knew it wasn’t a good idea, but i don’t blame him, he was only 10.
i didn’t do it again until i was 11, this time it was filled with anger and frustration, i can’t remember why i was so upset at the time, i picked up a shard of glass, and ran it across my thighs a couple times until i calmed, my body released endorphins until i felt relaxed, i didn’t feel depressed for the first time, i didn’t feel mad anymore, i didn’t feel anything, i was at ease, and feeling such a calm effect i almost felt high, the feeling went away so quick, so i continued, but i still don’t blame him, he didn’t know what he was doing, he was only 11.
it continued, 12 year old me excited to get home from school so i can feel that same high i chased so much, i still didn’t feel addicted and thought i could stop whenever, so why didn’t i? if i thought i could stop why didn’t i? i still don’t blame him. he’s only 12, he doesn’t know any better.
now i’m 15, i know better, i know wrong from right and i know i’m addicted, i knew i was addicted when i texted my best friend needing her help in getting me clean, i wasn’t strong enough to do it alone, i wasn’t even strong enough with her help. relapse after relapse i was too scared to let her down, but she knew. she knew i wasn’t clean, her laughing and hitting my leg, my sharp inhale at her touch, she knew. getting into the pool and wincing at the pain of the chlorine water hitting my legs, she always knew. sometimes it feels like everyone knows, walking through the school hallway, maybe everyone sees through me.
there is so much pain i want to express but my own body hasn’t come to terms, or i don’t know how to even word it, i guess that’s what this whole thread is about, the way i’m hurting, the way i blame myself, and slightly how i hate the little boy in me who wanted to see what it felt like it be hurt, he turned his mental pain into physical pain, the same little boy who loved his bearded dragon and loved playing minecraft until he fell asleep, sometimes i get reminded that he is me, i remember when i first buzzed my hair at 9, i felt free and excited, like that the little boy in me was actually there, after hiding in the skin of a little girl for all his years, he was so tired of hiding, but now he’s pushed so far away inside me, i miss him, it feels like i mourn the loss of myself, because im already dead to myself
ANYWAYS i’ll probably write more sometime soon, or maybe I’ll never write again, who knows.