I wonder if you know that you’re the one who pushes me to the point of self harm.
While the fact that I sat home alone the night of homecoming and that my friends didn’t call me and that I tried hanging out with my dad only to discover that he had gone to Wisconsin without telling me and that I think everyone gets really annoyed by my existence bothers me greatly and makes me feel horrible, the fact that you notice I’m in a bad mood and feel the need to exacerbate it, that you need to comment on how horrible I am, how my friends ditched me, how debate makes me into a bitch, how my friends are only nice to me so that they can use me, and how I should stop fighting with my sister despite her calling me a bitch because I AM being a bitch, and how this morning I’m being so stupid because the sink splashes while I was washing dishes, all of this, pushes me over the edge.
I just spent half an hour laying in bed doing a cost-benefit analysis on why I shouldn’t take the economy sized bottle of extra strength tylenol and the smaller bottle of extra strength prescription strength tylenol and mix them together and eat them as my last meal. They would go down fast, I only ate an apple and a handful of peanuts yesterday, and some coffee today. I thought of what it would benefit: You wouldn’t be burdened by the reminder of what an older sister is, my sister wouldn’t have to worry about money for college, my friends wouldn’t be annoyed and feel the need to include me, my future of loneliness would end, my future of boring and dull and mundane would end, I wouldn’t feel these feelings anymore.
I don’t want to die, mom, but I have no one to talk to except the internet about my feelings. I can’t call my dad, he would just tell my mom and would freak out and it would send everything spiralling. I thought of calling Kate, but I can’t tell her half of what is bothering me because it regards her as a friend and I don’t want to burden her and she’s probably working right now and I haven’t helped her at all so it would be a crappy thing to do. I can’t call Kali, because that would be really rude of me, just dumping my problems on her, and although I think she likes me more than my other friends, I don’t think she likes me enough to give a genuine shit. I don’t have Billy’s phone number, and he wouldn’t care much anyway. I thought about calling a hotline, but I’m so chickenshit, I’d just clog up the line for someone who needs them more than a sobbing lesbian teenage girl who got ditched on homecoming and who has nicks on her arms from “cutting” and eats her 500 calorie limit a day in fat and sugar, something with more to lose.
I thought of talking to you, mom, but you would just yell at me for being selfish, for ruining your life, ask why I’m doing this to you, and I would end up killing myself after all.
The reason I haven’t done it and I won’t is because of the logistics. I managed to find two people who I couldn’t bear hurting, and who would hurt the most from me doing it. My grandmother is what keeps me alive, because she would be heartbroken. I should go visit her today. The other is my sister, who would be the one to find me passed out and would have to deal with everything afterwards.
Mom, I want to tell you everything wrong with me and not be judged. I want to tell you that I’ve tried to self harm. I want to tell you that I haven’t eaten more than 1,000 calories a day for a month, and that on most of those days I’ve eaten less than 500 calories. I want to tell you that I’ve been questioning my sexuality for years until I finally realized six months ago that I’m gay.
But I know all of these things would make you angry, would ruin your perspective of me, and would end up with you blaming me for trying to screw with your life. I’m sorry for being so whiny, I know that a lot of people have worse problems than I do, and I feel selfish for whining this much. I should fix these problems myself, but I don’t know how.