Tristin.
July 21st, 2012, 05:13 PM
This is just a vent, but feel free to comment.
At the age of 15, i started self harming. It started out with scratching and slowly built up to cutting and even burning. It started as a may to deal with what i thought was loneliness at the time, but as i later would out was in fact depression due to a combination of things. The last time i cut was January. I promised myself and my best friend that i would stop.
Then last week, i lost control. It started over the smallest thing. My Father came home from business, one of his visits home and at the table he started asking what i was thinking of doing now i had left school and i snapped. I started screaming at him, asking why now after 17 years he "bothered giving a fuck" and i threw the dinnerware off the table and kicked my chair over. I snapped. I told him he was useless as a father and a coward. At the beginning of the year my brother was in hospital for a month and not once did he visit.
After that i went up to my room, locked the door and sat crying on the floor, that's when i relapsed, i remember everything and it felt as if everything i had ever felt was coming up at once.
I tried calling my friend, but he is abroad so couldn't answer, my brother had stormed out the house shortly after dinner and my parents were doing their usual, being useless and worrying about the cracked china and chipped chair. As i lay crying i just felt the urge get stronger and i relapsed. I took my craft knife from my art folder and i started cutting up my leg.
For the first time since i started cutting at 15, i scared myself that night. I remember laughing and crying as i cut my leg over and over. My leg is a mess and so is my stomach which i scratched to the point it bled. The real clincher is that while i did it i remember thinking that if i was a better son, if i got better grades, if i wasn't gay, if had been better looking or if i had some great talent that maybe my parents would have cared over the years and maybe they would have been 'Mum and Dad' rather than 'Mother and Father'.
I need out of this house. I need away from my parents. I need away from all of this. I don't care for their money, i don't care for the house's, i don't give a fuck about the trust fund! They can keep it all! I want out. They have never been my parents. They have been my fucking bank book! Last week i realised that. Maybe my relapse was for the best.
At the age of 15, i started self harming. It started out with scratching and slowly built up to cutting and even burning. It started as a may to deal with what i thought was loneliness at the time, but as i later would out was in fact depression due to a combination of things. The last time i cut was January. I promised myself and my best friend that i would stop.
Then last week, i lost control. It started over the smallest thing. My Father came home from business, one of his visits home and at the table he started asking what i was thinking of doing now i had left school and i snapped. I started screaming at him, asking why now after 17 years he "bothered giving a fuck" and i threw the dinnerware off the table and kicked my chair over. I snapped. I told him he was useless as a father and a coward. At the beginning of the year my brother was in hospital for a month and not once did he visit.
After that i went up to my room, locked the door and sat crying on the floor, that's when i relapsed, i remember everything and it felt as if everything i had ever felt was coming up at once.
I tried calling my friend, but he is abroad so couldn't answer, my brother had stormed out the house shortly after dinner and my parents were doing their usual, being useless and worrying about the cracked china and chipped chair. As i lay crying i just felt the urge get stronger and i relapsed. I took my craft knife from my art folder and i started cutting up my leg.
For the first time since i started cutting at 15, i scared myself that night. I remember laughing and crying as i cut my leg over and over. My leg is a mess and so is my stomach which i scratched to the point it bled. The real clincher is that while i did it i remember thinking that if i was a better son, if i got better grades, if i wasn't gay, if had been better looking or if i had some great talent that maybe my parents would have cared over the years and maybe they would have been 'Mum and Dad' rather than 'Mother and Father'.
I need out of this house. I need away from my parents. I need away from all of this. I don't care for their money, i don't care for the house's, i don't give a fuck about the trust fund! They can keep it all! I want out. They have never been my parents. They have been my fucking bank book! Last week i realised that. Maybe my relapse was for the best.