The wind is cold and strong and bitter tonight. I could shout into it, and no one would hear. But I cannot shout. I can only whisper. Whisper, whisper, into the wind… and the wind will catch my whispers and carry them away into the darkness, into the clouds.
My body hurts so much. But I am too ashamed to tell anyone. I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to do it all over again, abusing my body, punishing myself, because I know I deserve it.
I’m slipping into depression again. I forgot to take my meds yesterday, and that was a huge mistake. I’ve skipped taking them before, but that was always when I was having really good days, and I didn’t think I needed them. But the past few times I’ve forgotten, I’ve dipped way down. It’s not a mental thing, either, where I know I didn’t take my meds, and so I unconsciously make myself more depressed, because that’s what’s supposed to happen. I honestly forgot, and I didn’t remember until late last night when I was racking my brain trying to figure out why I wanted so deeply to die.
What is this obsession I have with dying? Why do I always go back to these thoughts, even when I know that I’m here for a reason, and I know I have people who love me? I don’t want to hurt them. I know what suicide does to the families and friends. It hurts them deeply. They feel guilty, and that’s the last thing I want. I just want to disappear, somehow so that I don’t hurt people.
Last night I wanted so very much to cut. I still want to. Isn’t this supposed to get easier? I feel like the longer I go without cutting, the harder it gets. And… I’m too ashamed to tell anyone here that I need help. I need a hug… or something. I need someone to just tell me not to cut, not to binge, not to purge.
I want to keep hurting my body. I already have, and I feel so guilty, and I want to punish myself by hurting my body more. What else am I supposed to do? I can’t talk about it. I’m too ashamed. And I don’t want to be a burden to people. I’m afraid that if I tell people, they’ll worry about me, and I really don’t want people worrying about me. I don’t want anyone to feel responsible for me. I have friends who have taken it upon themselves to make sure I eat. Sometimes I feel like that’s all our relationship is made up of anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to have real friendships that aren’t based on them taking care of me.
I don’t need to be babysat. It just makes me feel even more guilty, and it makes me want to get away with more.
But at the same time… it’s when I’m with friends that I feel most safe. When I’m with friends, I am safe from myself. I can’t eat too much. I can’t purge. I can’t cut. I can’t do anything else to abuse my body. I can just curl up and feel safe. When I’m with friends, I can finally relax.
Sometimes, when I’m over at my friends’ houses, and everyone’s getting ready to leave, I almost want to ask if I can sleep over. Then I wouldn’t have to go back to my room and face myself. Sometimes, I just don’t feel safe enough to be alone. I don’t trust myself. But I can’t ask, because I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be there if they don’t want me. They need their space.
What is the difference between needing and wanting? I feel like I need help. I need a hug. I need someone to tell me I’m forgiven, because I can’t believe it from myself. I need someone to sit by me and not let me be alone. But then… I feel like I should be able to get through this by myself. I haven’t cut yet. As for eating issues, that’s a completely different story. But I haven’t cut. So that should mean that I can do this myself, right? Because I’ve been alone, and I haven’t cut. So I must be doing something that’s working, and it should work for the eating stuff, too.
But if I don’t need help, then I’m only wanting it. I should be able to do this myself. It’s selfish of me to want so much attention from people all the time. They have their own lives. They can’t afford to come and sit with me every time I want to die. I mean, seriously, what college student has time to sit with me every night? Because that’s how often I want to die. Who has the energy to work through these things with me?
I haven’t tried to kill myself yet. Not since last summer. I just want to. And wanting to do something isn’t the same as attempting it. I can’t say I need help. I can’t say I’ll die if I don’t get help. I’m not going to kill myself. I don’t want to put people through that. I especially don’t want anyone to have to find me dead. That would be traumatizing. I just wish I could die in some accident somehow, because then people wouldn’t feel guilty.
But then, would anyone feel guilty if I tried to kill myself? Maybe I’m assuming too much. Maybe they’d be glad to have me gone. I’m too clingy. Too needy. They’d probably hurt for a while, but they’d get over it. Maybe, once they got over the shock of it, they’d be better off. They wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.
Someone said that people who commit suicide don’t go to heaven. I don’t know if that’s true or not. But it might be worth it, even if I go to hell, because I’d be freeing everyone else of me. They’d realize soon enough that it’s for the best… that’s what I tried to say in the suicide letter I wrote. I’m too needy. I mean, seriously, I want to have people around me all the time, just because I don’t trust myself. How selfish is that?!
Last night I had a new friend come in and tell me a little of her life story. I told her a little of mine in return. She told me that any time I was feeling terrible, I could call her. But… I can’t. I can’t. I know she won’t judge me, because she’s been through the same stuff. But I can’t tell her. I can’t ask for help. Because I probably won’t end up cutting tonight. I’ve been getting through each night without cutting. I probably won’t cut tonight. I’ll do homework and distract myself until I fall asleep. I don’t need someone to help me. I just… really, really want it.
Whisper, whisper, into the wind… and the wind catches up my whispers and carries them away. No one else can hear them, no one but the wind and God and whoever out there reads this. I cannot speak in more than a whisper… I am deathly afraid of someone hearing me and taking my burdens onto themselves.
I’m hurting so much… I want to hurt more. I should be hurting more. I want to die… I want to die… I want to die.
Dear wind, cold bitter wind, please take me away somewhere… somewhere up in the clouds where I don’t have to live like this anymore. Do I ask for help, do I ask for a hug, when I know I don’t need it? Please, God, take me… take me… take me.
windwhisperings 