I lie so much, I think half of my life is probably made up when I tell people. I am scared to live sometimes and so I recede into the depths of my bed or in my closet. I scratch my legs with my nails till they bleed when I’m really upset. I think I’m all that sometimes but then I remember that I really am a worthless pile of shit, even more so when I think I’m something. I find more mental problems with myself every time I walk into health class. I pulled out all my eyelashes when I was twelve, and have had bald eyelids ever since (I am almost sixteen now). I have watched porn out of pure curiosity, to see how exactly you do it (and I didn’t even get turned on). My best friend ditched me for my ex-boyfriend who harassed me all summer and now she thinks she’s in love with him. I wrote a suicide note a few months ago. I want to die a lot of the time, and it’s only maybe a few times a week I am actually happy or laugh. I am a very good actor but not even my closest friends would know. I hold onto the past way too much and I want to go back to a time when my best friend and I were each other’s world, sister, and soul mate. I love my boyfriend and his family, and it makes me sad to see how much more I love his mom then I do my own. My own mother calls me “Scar face” and “Bitch” and “Retard”, and tells me how someday she will call the cops or hospital on me so they can finally wheel me away. I live in the constant fear that someday I will wake up and find myself strapped to a bed in a mental hospital. I hate my acne but I hate myself more so I just rip at them till it hurts and they bleed, and I am left with a scarred, bloody face to go to school with. I really hate the shallowness and conformity of my grade and the rare few who aren’t in this group should feel blessed. And speaking of “blessed”, I have no religious affiliation to speak of and sometimes I wonder that if I die, it will really be over and I will be alone. I used to be a lively, chirpy little girl at home but I gave up when it finally hit me that no one wanted to hear it. Now my parents are beginning to see how crazy I really am and they want me to be that little girl again, but I don’t think I can go back. Or want to. Some waters run deeper then others. I got caught drinking vodka with a friend a few weeks ago and I got busted and suspended for 2 weeks because it was a school-related event. But most of my friends don’t believe me that I only took two actual sips (for once, I didn’t lie about something). I used to be good friends with a group of five other girls and it got to the point where I couldn’t stand the sugarcoating and the “telling-what-you-want-hear”. I still talk to most of them but I only really stayed close with two of them (my old best friend is one). I hang out with three other girls (one I have been close with for a few years, one who is her best friend, and another who is very close to me) but sometimes I feel like I don’t belong there or that I’m just existing and watching them, not really being “with” them. Sometimes I think I talk too much about myself and when I shut up, I am pestered by people asking what is wrong with me and telling me to stop acting so depressed. Speaking of depression, I was diagnosed with it after the suicide note incident. I show be taking medicine for it but I am deathly afraid of pills because as a child, I almost choked on one. Whenever someone gives me a pill of any sort, I either toss it or stash it in a secret drawer in my room. The collection grows almost every week and I’m afraid if someone were to find it, I’d really get sent to the hospital for “attempted overdose” or something equally morbid. When 9/11 happened, I couldn’t stop looking at pictures of the people on the top floors hanging out of windows and looking at their faces frozen forever in horror. I feel like I can’t love anymore and I feel numb a lot of the time. I speak in a monotone voice in my house and no longer have a door, so I also have no privacy. My grandfather died of Alzheimer’s this past summer and it makes me terrified to realize that that disease is genetic. I lied to someone very close to me for a few months, and admitting it would make me want to kill myself right now because it was the most terrible, bastardly lie I could ever dream up. And I only made it up for attention, which is the pathetic part. I was crying in a bathroom not three days ago and I couldn’t stop, and I got caught for cutting class. I’m afraid to go to lunch because I don’t like eating and I don’t like sitting with this one girl I used to be friends with because now she annoys the hell out of me. Sometimes I just want to lie in my boyfriend’s arms in his house, and forget everything. Sometimes it all adds up and I want to die. And admitting it all makes it even worse. Confess ID: s4cper41        Posted On: 26-Jul-2008