When You are only appreciated as "you"

I will first have to start off with what Friday brought me and how I wished it had never happened but secretly know that I had to do it to move on. (I hate that I use the word "I" so much, but this is like a journal and I poor my little heart out on this page consisting of pixels, codes and numbers)

Last week I felt so angry, like a fire burning inside me fuelled by rage and fed by words on a screen and whispers in my ears. For the last few weeks, two perhaps, this feeling of being irritated, angry, impatient, restless and most of all feeling down. These feelings are not like me, I have trouble with expressing my emotions and most of all, anger, I was never really angry, I knew how to express disappointment and turned my anger into sadness and just bottled it up inside. Now, it's too much to bear, when I was younger and someone got me angry or furious, which only happened thrice, I would beat them up and then run away and cry my eyes out. I now know that you can't hit someone in the face, throw things at them or push them to the wall or ground when they upset you, especially since they are not the reason you are angry in the first place. This feeling just ate me from the inside and by Thursday I was ready to kill myself or slit myself in two and be over and done with, everything was wrong and this fire had gotten so warm that it just hurt. I tried to express some of the anger only to get told that it was "totally uncalled for" to behave like that over such a trivial thing like a mother who acts childish towards the neighbours and a flat bike-tire. Even going to the gym and beating myself up with running faster than ever. In the end I was too tired, too little sleep during the week due to all the anger.

This Friday I still felt that fire burning, but very slow, but I knew it was going to re-heat at some moment and I felt worthless and everything else and it made no sense anymore to not hurt myself. So I did, after drinking enough and screaming and yelling to friends and noobs alike in the Asylum Chat. I went to my bed, razor in hand and made a few cuts. I really can't remember what I did there, my memory has not saved that part and all I know is that somehow, someway I got out of my bed, put on a vest and socks and went downstairs to put on my boots and coat and went outside where I walked for a while, through the small park nearby. Halfway I saw the blood stairs on my pyjama pants, but at that point I didn't care. I went back home and went back in chat, because in all honesty, I left quite mad and felt obliged to at least call back in to say that I was not dead yet and not playing on dying either, after that and drinking some more I undressed and went to bed.

I woke up, and tried to move my legs to get up and the pain shot from my thighs to my ankles. There was blood stains all over the sheets and bloodstained tissues next to the pillow. The pain was bad enough to make me almost cry when getting down the ladder. I proceeded to get undressed and change into clean clothes, I went to the bathroom to clean the cuts and noticed the severe pain in my leg. I examined the wounds and felt that when I gently pushed a cut, that went from my upper tight to the back of my leg, that I felt it in my ankle. Apparently I cut on top of a nerve, without damaging the nerve but still, too close. I was not yet sober so I got behind the computer to sober up drinking lots of water. when I thought it was time to go downstairs to get some food I looked for something to cover the cuts on my arm. There in the corner of my room, next to my drawers was the pile of semi-clean clothing. I picked up the vest, stained with blood all over the arms, I checked my shirt, blood stained too. I went back to my bed that night after feeling quite good for the first time in a while and saw how badly stained it all was and even the razor was still lying in my bed.

Thank god that that night was so much better. It's a pity that it hasn't been recorded. Sometimes I find myself using tinychat with friends from the Asylum chat. Saturday (aka last night, February 6th) I went into chat and decided that after a while it would be great to draw on my face. Though this was also alcohol induced I knew what I was doing. I made a mess off my face adding: a stache, a plague rat, crossed heart, pirate scar and an angry shrimp. I then continued to write Death's Property >=3 on my arm, No pain No gain around the new cuts on my lower arm and an anchor like Popeye on my other arm. I felt satisfied and went to bed at 4am.

We want what's best for you, but think that everything you do is useless
Today (Sunday) at dinner I had a burst of random facts. My mind just raced over various subjects in its hyperdrive and I told just odd, perverted and random facts I knew when appropriate in the conversation during dinner. After a while my parents tell me that I really am a problem child. Their reasons?? I spend my time on the internet researching perverted things about Dildos, I waste my time learning useless facts about things. Best of all, I am too perverted and I did not even tell them perverted things. In the end it came down to the fact that I am wasting my time and memoryspace learning useless facts while I think of perverted thoughts 24/7 and I cause too much trouble. Not even my brother, who has a kind of autism (PDD NOS) has never been called a problem child and they even hinted and me being worse than him. Why that? Because I am supposedly normal, or at least, there is nothing genetic or hormonal and whatever wrong with me and everything that is me is because I do not do the right things. I feel like they don't even know the real me because there is so much about me that they would never understand or agree with. I feel like the 3rd best child, out of the three. I am the child that is looked down upon because I never do anything right enough to make it to the top. My parents always tell me that somehow or someway I can do something better or different, as my mother pointed out this week "you can ask to work more, the weather is getting better, I think you ought to apply for more work". I asked her why, though she said that is was because of the weather I saw in her eyes that she meant that she thought I was doing too little. Delivering mail is not the same as going to school, if I were to go and work full-time I would drive myself nuts, working is just to get out of the house and earn some money.

In the end I am the worthless, unintelligent, not skinny enough, not normal enough, 3rd best, perverted, ugly, lazy, unmotivated and futureless, whiny person that is going to stop being a teenager in half a year.

It's always nice when you family gives you a reminder that the person you have become and the person friends somehow like is not something your parents really want to associate themselves with.