herrscher
petalsforpeace
- Nov 7, 2025
- 2
Hii! I don't really know how to use this site, so I hope I'm doing this right.
P.S: english is not my native language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
I've been trying to kill myself since I was 9 years old. At first, it was because I didn't feel pretty. I tried to lose weight all the time, drank huge amounts of water at once, exercised until my body hurt. I hated myself, my body and my appearance. Now I can see it was body image distortion — I wasn't fat even for a child, I was totally healthy and what made me unhealthy were my lose weight habits. Just a kid trying to feel beautiful.
Also I was 9 the first time I self-harmed. Finally my mom noticed something was wrong and put me in therapy, but I never really felt helped (even today).
When I was 12, I was put on several medication every day, and I only stopped when I began to rebel and refused any kind of treatment.
That was also when my grandmother passed away, leaving just me and my mom — and my stepfather, but I prefer not to talk about him. Also not having a complete family and grow up alone has been a major problem for me until these days. My father never tried to talk to me; he lives in another city and thinks my problems are just a phase. He refuses to pay my therapy.
After so many years feeling this way, I don't really know how to help myself anymore. I've been in therapy, but I never felt like it worked, and I don't know what would help. I don't have friends. Everyone at school knows about my self-harm (teachers, staff, parents), but no one ever looks at me and asks: "Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk? Do you need a hug?"
Having someone would have made things easier.
I never understood why no one wanted to be my friend. I tried fitting into different groups, but I was always the outcast. I never knew what was "wrong" with me, so hurting myself became the only thing that felt familiar.
I already showed up in class with fresh wounds, blood still visible, and no one did anything. I've been like this since I was nine and I've always been in the same school with the same people, and I guess it became something people just ignore.
I'm also harming myself slowly. My bedroom is completely covered in mold — ceiling, walls, even my clothes and bed. My mom complains about the smell, but after so many years I can't feel the smell or some symptoms. I don't feel motivated to clean or open a window. I just got used to it, like I always do.
I try to end my life often, and I've never tried to get better. Even during my longest break from self-harm (1 or 2 month this year), I kept a blade hidden because I knew I would need it later. I plan my death every day because I feel comfortable, so I'm always like: "Oh, I'm not available tonight, I'm going to cut myself." I choke myself to the point of bruising and bursting tiny blood vessels for weeks, but I've never succeeded in killing myself.
At this point, I can't imagine a future for myself. Even if someday I had everything I dream of — a real father figure, friends, affection — I think I would still wanted to end my life. I don't believe I will ever get fully better, because a part of me doesn't want to.
The idea of dying feels… familiar. Almost safe.
I don't know what else to say, but that's it.
P.S: english is not my native language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
I've been trying to kill myself since I was 9 years old. At first, it was because I didn't feel pretty. I tried to lose weight all the time, drank huge amounts of water at once, exercised until my body hurt. I hated myself, my body and my appearance. Now I can see it was body image distortion — I wasn't fat even for a child, I was totally healthy and what made me unhealthy were my lose weight habits. Just a kid trying to feel beautiful.
Also I was 9 the first time I self-harmed. Finally my mom noticed something was wrong and put me in therapy, but I never really felt helped (even today).
When I was 12, I was put on several medication every day, and I only stopped when I began to rebel and refused any kind of treatment.
That was also when my grandmother passed away, leaving just me and my mom — and my stepfather, but I prefer not to talk about him. Also not having a complete family and grow up alone has been a major problem for me until these days. My father never tried to talk to me; he lives in another city and thinks my problems are just a phase. He refuses to pay my therapy.
After so many years feeling this way, I don't really know how to help myself anymore. I've been in therapy, but I never felt like it worked, and I don't know what would help. I don't have friends. Everyone at school knows about my self-harm (teachers, staff, parents), but no one ever looks at me and asks: "Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk? Do you need a hug?"
Having someone would have made things easier.
I never understood why no one wanted to be my friend. I tried fitting into different groups, but I was always the outcast. I never knew what was "wrong" with me, so hurting myself became the only thing that felt familiar.
I already showed up in class with fresh wounds, blood still visible, and no one did anything. I've been like this since I was nine and I've always been in the same school with the same people, and I guess it became something people just ignore.
I'm also harming myself slowly. My bedroom is completely covered in mold — ceiling, walls, even my clothes and bed. My mom complains about the smell, but after so many years I can't feel the smell or some symptoms. I don't feel motivated to clean or open a window. I just got used to it, like I always do.
I try to end my life often, and I've never tried to get better. Even during my longest break from self-harm (1 or 2 month this year), I kept a blade hidden because I knew I would need it later. I plan my death every day because I feel comfortable, so I'm always like: "Oh, I'm not available tonight, I'm going to cut myself." I choke myself to the point of bruising and bursting tiny blood vessels for weeks, but I've never succeeded in killing myself.
At this point, I can't imagine a future for myself. Even if someday I had everything I dream of — a real father figure, friends, affection — I think I would still wanted to end my life. I don't believe I will ever get fully better, because a part of me doesn't want to.
The idea of dying feels… familiar. Almost safe.
I don't know what else to say, but that's it.
