Sunday, 30 September 2012

Tessa decides to tell the truth

I haven't been here in a while, not ever since my older brother hijacked this blog and edited stuff to suit his story.

Oh, about the title... yeah. I'm going to tell the truth. I've stopped cutting, but the thing about this is that I'm going batshit crazy without it. I feel the urge to cut. But I was honestly suicidal a few months back. No one knew. And my guess was that no one really wanted to know. I had told my parents before, heatedly, in an argument, that one day I would kill myself, but they brushed it off and treated it as if it was nothing. Everywhere I went since the day of the argument, I saw ways for me to die: Tall buildings. Oncoming trains. Knives. Ropes. Even when I passed the police station, I’d think of going in to borrow their guns. I tried. I actually did. I tried to stab myself, strangle myself, but each time I shrank away from it. I was too scared. And each time, it made me want to kill myself even more, because I look down upon myself for trying and failing. I was a failure, right? Everyone said so, and everything I did proved it so. Until that night. I was resolved to do it. I was clumsy with the written word when I was emotional so I decided to give my friend a ring instead. It was late into the night and I didn’t suspect he’d be awake, so I didn’t expect him to pick up. When he did, however, I remember putting it down immediately, and him calling and calling. And when I picked up, I heard him say, “It’s okay. I’m here for you.” And I broke down. I cried. I just wanted to tell him goodbye, that I’m sorry for not being there for him if he needed me… and by those few words, he brought me back. I wasn’t aware of it at the time but after I cried I told him I was sorry. I was sorry for trying to kill myself. I was sorry for not opening up. I was sorry for not telling him, because we never kept secrets from each other. He told me to keep calm and put whatever I was holding down, go back to my room, and sleep it off. And the next day he came over and gave me a paper crane, which is the main reason I’m still alive today.

The paper crane still sits in my room.

I don't even know why I want to tell all of you this. My guess is that not many people read this blog, and not olot of people actually know that in the back of my mind, this blog still lives, and that one day, when I'm bothered enough, I should revive it. And I have. But I don't think people are going to read this... but this has gotten a load off of my back. My friend moved away a few weeks ago. He was suicidal and depressed like me, and all I can do now is hope he reads this and knows that even though I never told him "Thank you", I hope he knows that I'm grateful for him for saving my life... for not getting mad at me when I kept it from him... for olot of things. 

Also, I want people to know. I want someone to know what happened. I didn't even tell my friend that, but I guess I find comfort in telling people things through my keyboard. Maybe I'll remain anonymous forever. I don't know. But I want people to know the truth; I want people to know my story.

I want a comfort to know that when I die, if I die, I won't be taking this with me to my grave.

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