They Stole My Leech Jar

This is just a teenage rant of how stupid my parents are while I am the one being stupid, but I really do not care. So of course nobody stole my leech jar, but those we have read the Asylum Book know what I am talking about. I am a very lazy person to begin one, lazy is not the right word but it just takes a while for me to get started with things. Household chores are the worst and at best I don't do them at all. Like cleaning out my bed and refreshing the sheets and airing everything.

I hadn't been feeling all that well the last few months and I had more often than I want to admit reached for the knife and carved my skin to feel something. I hate how I can feel miserable, but not miserable enough to cry and not well enough to pretend that I am happy and go on. Often I am in a state of despair and my body feels icky, nothing is right and I just want to crawl away and die, like dogs do when they know it's time. Would this be a sign that my body wants to die or my mind and that it is just giving me signs to throw away what I got? I don't know. I digress. I kept some of the things I used to get my fix of temporary happiness up in my bed. My bed is located at attic level but in my bedroom a level lower. Above my door there is made some sort of construction that was used to store boxes but is now used to sleep. One side has the wall with on the other side the attic, the other side has my room and the ceiling, so I can throw my legs over my bed and look down 2.5m while touching the ceiling with my hands. Now I store about anything in my bed like a hamster. Not only is my favourite teddy in my bed but a few others things:

1. mobile charger
2. Nintendo DSi
3. Diary/poetry book
4. light
5. Flashlight,
because my light does not work anymore
6. Empty beer bottles
7. Empty rhum mini bottles
8. One razor
9. Towel to catch the blood to prevent staining the bed
(I got a small shelf above my bed to put things on, don't worry)

My mum has cleaned out my bed two days ago. This not only means that she took anything that could use to damage myself with and will now worry about my self destructive behaviour. She will also think that I am an alcoholic, while those empty bottles were from two months ago. Most important is that my little secret of self-harm has been exposed again. I tried pretending that I was healed and that I had overcome the need and addiction of hurting myself last year, so my parents did not have to worry anymore about that. I mean I got to the point that I did not longer need to hurt myself to feel normal, for a few months I knew how to deal with things. I just want to pretend again that I am fine, because I just want people to think that. I don't want anyone to worry because I am not worth it. You might say that I am such a hypocrite because I do tell it here. Well, sod it, I am a hypocrite, I like to tell you these things because it feels like no one else ever listens to me, I need to get it off my chest, it's good therapy at times. Now don't think the I like you to worry applies to you, my personality sucks, I know, I don't want you to worry either. Honestly, I really am not worth any of that.

If I die, if I do find myself in a situation where I think suicide is the only option out I don't want anyone to feel sorry or sad. I know I am not meant to live here on earth, to live this life. I am just sitting out the time that I got. For me it will be a great relief when life is over, I find this a very realistic point of view. Don't worry though, now I find taking my own life too much trouble, but when I get in an accident and I fall into coma I will just let myself die, why would I live on anyway. Die before 30, sounds emo, but really, what else is there. I can't even believe I lived passed 18. I once made a pact with myself that I would kill myself before I would turn 18. I guess I was lucky that that were the only months that I felt ok. A few days later I cut myself again and ended up crying on a train station.

I am angry at my mum, most of all I am angry with myself. What was I thinking, safe place?? Hell, no! My bed is not a safe place to hide things in. I just keep forgetting it every single time. I am just glad I changed the hiding spot of my stash of razors, even made a special hiding place that nobody will know so I will always have something to rely on when my mum decides to plunder my room and take everything sharp and find the stash of razors. Yes I keep my razors, they make me feel safe, because I know that they are there when I need them, I just don't want to take any chances with anything else sharp.

Burns these thoughts, breath, let go.

Your mind is empty now,

exhale,

the thoughts you had will be gone.