Yes, I know that this entry is going to make my journal another "oh woe is me," but hey, it's mine and all of you can go to hell.
The act or an instance of intentionally killing oneself.
Ahh, yes, killing oneself. Sometimes deep inside I wish that it were all over, that my life were simply ended -- yet at the same time I dread it. I fear getting into a car, afraid that it might crash. I fear of getting on an airplane, afraid that it might plumit into a body of water. I fear the "safety" of my room, for it is not safe at all. I fear myself, my actions .. I fear my lost dreams.
No matter how badly I may want myself dead I know that I infact cannot kill myself, I can only wish for someone to do it for me.
Deep inside I know that I may not live past twenty-one, for all my hopes and dreams can go no further than the age of eighteen.
One true boyfriend in my entire lifetime, two infatuations and something so deep I could kill myself for not telling him.
"You need help." "You need professional help." "You need to listen to happy music." "You need to wear more colors." "You need to speak up."
All my life I've been abused.
My father, mental, verbal, physical.
My mother, mental and physical.
My aunt a, mental.
My grandparents, mental and verbal.
My cousins hardly even know who I am.
I want to curl up and fade away. It's been so long since I've been able to feel one pair of actual loving arms wrapped around me so tightly that all my worries just drifted away .. it's been so long since I've heard a voice so soothing, so sweet, so carefree that my life seems entirely brighter.. It's been so long that it felt like it was never there in the first place.