Venting I want to live, but it's so difficult.

[foggyskies_]

I feel a little silly writing here. It would be nice to express my feelings in a way that wasn't searching for validation, but that's human nature, eh? Relying on artwork can only get you so far.

There are plenty of reasons for me to live. I see the beauty in living every day. My kittens, the sun shining through my window some days, the rain pattering against it on others. The voice of my lover every morning, warm food in my belly, a cool blanket. Little things like that. I collect them and keep them in the back of my mind. They help, they do. But those are childish pleasures, aren't they? One day I'm going to have to get off my ass and put in a hard days' work. It's got to be sooner rather than later, right?

I kind of miss high school because of that. Sure, the stress put me in hospital, but I had a reason to be allowed in my parents' house. Even though the International Baccalaureate workload took a toll on my mind and body worse than I'd wish on anyone-- Even if I developed debilitating arthritis and migraines and could do nothing more than sleep-- I was still a kid! You get so much leniency when you're a kid. It seems that way, at least. Now... what? I'm hardly past 18, I'm starting college in a month, but being an adult means I have to have my shit together by now. I can't just sleep, I have to help out, I have to get a job, I have to do all the things adults do because Mom is getting too old to take care of me. I'm getting too old to be taken care of. But I don't know how to do any of that. I'm too tired, too afraid, too trapped in the mind of a traumatized teenage girl to pull my drawers up and get shit done.

So, what do I do then? What's left for me now? To punish myself for being such a burden, right? That's what suicide is to me now. Self-flagellation as a twisted apology for taking food off of my parents' tables, for making them break their backs for their crippled, useless, lazy daughter. I'm too afraid of the permanence of death, though, so my half-hearted apology is to cut. Kind of fruitless.

I started cutting almost a year ago now, and I don't really remember why by this point. I feel guilty about starting in the first place, because my girlfriend was recovering from self harm when we met. I helped her get clean, at least for a while, with the naïve thought that I was an outsider looking in. Now, I worry every time I tell her what I've done to myself it'll trigger the competitive mindset every addict has in her, that I've appropriated her chosen poison and amalgamated it into something to hurt her. That was never my intention, though. I thought my aversion to pain was cowardice to be overcome. I was wrong, of course. It doesn't make much of a difference how deep I cut. It only gives me more reasons to be sorry.

The truth is, I can't die from my own hand because funerals cost too much. Because my mother would only face more stress that she doesn't deserve. She puts up with an abusive roach of a husband, two children, a 12 hour shift each day that's killing her slowly. I can see it. When my grandmother died last year, I saw firsthand how troublesome the inheritance process is. Cleaning out all her posessions, death certificates, storage closets, on top of the grief inherent. Logistically, it'd be stupid. But my self hatred screams louder.

The mantra among mental health support these days is that it's enough simply to be breathing, simply to wake up in the morning and participate in the natural course of a human life. I want to believe that too. It's so hard to see nowadays, though. No matter how many times I repeat it, I'm battered back stronger with poison. "I'm nothing but a weight on their shoulders," it says. "I have to get rid of it, I have to get rid of it," my OCD, OCPD, delusion-riddled idea of truth repeats. The best death for me would be either alone in my bed, finally not taking up space, or to die on my feet after working hard enough for once in my life.

I don't know. Maybe writing down my thoughts like this means I'm getting better. I want to be better, but I'm afraid my willpower and body arent strong enough to do what I need. Starting college might make me worthwhile enough to stay on this beautiful planet, who knows. The thoughts will probably stay, but I'll have something productive to do. Come January we'll see.

Good luck to the rest of you. <3

 

[timf]

Do you have the option of taking a year or two off school. You might save up some money, but a bigger reason is that getting in touch with the real world (not school) might be healthier for you. Earning your own money and having your own things contributes a tangibility to life that makes it more solid. The cutting often indicates a desire for control as well as undefined anxieties. School is an artificial environment (similar in many ways to prison) that can aggravate anxieties.

 

[foggyskies_]

I've already taken a semester off of college. For the sake of my physical ailments mostly. I'm better for it, I'd probably be in a worse state now if I thrust myself neck deep back into school only two months after graduating from high school. Like, by the time May rolled around, I was so sick my skin was practically gray, the only reason I'd get out of bed was for final exams, every other day I'd skip. I was genuinely shocked when I was told I earned my diploma, because I was on the verge of truancy officers busting down my door. The break was needed, no question about it.

Thing is, though, part of the reason I'm so guilty is that I've spent these months doing practically nothing. My dad's especially eager to remind me how lazy I am for it. I was genuinely afraid I'd be homeless if I pissed him off too much this summer. Not so much now, if I keep under his thumb well enough I'll keep a place to sleep. I job-hunted for months, hoping I'd have enough income to move out before Christmas, but there's not many entry level jobs for someone who falls asleep after a couple hours of standing upright. I did some freelance work, but that's just dollars in my savings account-- nothing I can live off of. The only "achievement" I've completed since graduation is get my learner's permit, but nothing is really enough in the eyes of my father or my brain. The DMV appointments were paid for on my mother's dollar, anyway...

TL;DR, taking a longer break from school is the one thing that'd make my situation worse, haha! In terms of guilt for existing. I'm actually pretty excited for college. I'm looking forward to structured days, meeting friends hopefully, maybe even getting a student job? It'll give me a reason to get out of the house, to not let depression fester from spending all day in bed.

I appreciate the thought, though. You make a good point. Thanks for taking the time to read my woes. Cheers!