Another Venting Thing
Thread Topic: Another Venting Thing
I hate the people that say that they love change and everything, but then don’t like it when their kid wants to get highlights or s---.
Sometimes your kid hates themself. Sometimes, all the reassurance in the world won’t help. Sometimes, help them by at least letting them do what they want for once.
I’m so frustrated that my parents moved the entire family back to Maryland. I really trusted them to do what was best for me. Still, here I am, crying every other night because I hate this place so much. It wasn’t fair, it’s never fair.
It’s like I can’t stop all of this emotional stuff from piling up every day. It’s too much for me to deal with.
And no one gets how hard it is. Im not saying this as a “no one understands me” kind of thing. I have tried. I’ve tried so hard to get people to understand how I’m feeling, but no one takes a hint or cares. I need to escape this, because it’s not the life I want to live.
It just feels like I’m becoming a huge wreck. I’m starting to turn into this anxious and afraid person. That’s not who I wanna be, but it’s happening.
I scared because I’m gonna hurt myself. There’s no other way to deal with the pain. And you know, I might just be meant to die early.
There’s no other way to put this, but I know people are gonna say:
“Are you okay?” Then never respond again.
Or they’ll tell my that suicide isn’t the answer. I have tried so hard to find another way to get out of this. I have to get out of my life, I f---ing have to die.
I don’t belong in an asylum or a hospital because of it. I’m not crazy, I’m not mental. I’m not depressed.
It’s just so much sadness that I can’t put up with anymore. It’s like horrible pressure that won’t release, but I need it to. I feel like I’m buried in tons of scary emotions.
I’m not depressed, just so f---ing sad.
The problem isn’t with my brain or the way that I think.
I don’t wanna die because I hate myself. I really wish I could live, or get to see what happens in the future. I’ve learned to love myself, and I’ve gotta do what I feel like is best for me.
And that’s suicide. I know people say that it’s a bad thing. But it’s really not, it really isn’t. It’s just something a person does when the world becomes too much for them, when things feel inescapable. I get it, and I want that for me. I really, truthfully, feel like I need to remove myself from this world.
Not for everyone else’s sake, but for my own. I’m not gonna live another year like this. And knowing that I could quickly stop feeling this pain. It’s not a shortcut, or because I’m scared scared, and it’s not selfish.
I hate hearing people say that peoples’ suicide is gonna hurt others. They’re so wrong. That’s so messed up. That’s f---ing guilt tripping.
I’m not gonna back out of suicide because someone tells me that they’ll miss me. Because they never tried to help. Maybe they deserve to hurt, maybe they deserve to feel that.
And truthfully, I don’t feel sorry for anyone that I’ll be leaving behind. All of these stupid sadness is because if the people around me. I don’t love them, I don’t trust them, and I really shouldn’t care about them.
If people cared, they’d know when things were wrong.
Suicide isn’t selfish or lazy. Because a person has to be brave to put themselves through the pain, so that they can finally rest in peace. That’s not selfish, that doesn’t seem lazy.
Ok so I woke up this morning, half dead. I’m literally so tired. And then for some reason my entire family was mad at me. Like people were rushing me and shouting and it just makes my head hurt.
Wow my brother is such an a--hole. Like I’m never joking when I say that he can just go die. And I’m not joking when I say that he’s crazy. He’s actually crazy, like mentally not well or something.
“If we move again I’m gonna blow my brains out”
Well f--- you then. Because I wanna f---ing blow my brains out. Not if we move again, BUT RIGHT NOW. It’s not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about everyone, and you didn’t care
She’s telling me that she loves me, and that she cares about me.
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