My “Mother”

She fails to exist in my life and soon my heart. She expects me to call her when:

1. She always “has to go” or is “busy” whenever I call her.

2. She doesn’t take care of me. 

Therefore, she should be calling instead of sending me a freaking TEXT asking why I haven’t called her! WTF? She makes me want to hate her so much. I realize that some people don’t even have mothers, but I might as well not even either, since she fails to exist as one.

She puts everything but me and my sister first.

She might as well have aborted me… 

My “lovely” grand mother…

She is seriously at least 30% of the reason why I hate my life or get depressed…

I really do not want to have much contact with her when I get older… Same goes for my grandpa in a way too. Because they constantly contribute to me loathing my life and making me want to kill myself.

I’m not even gonna bother ranting about her or calling her foul names even though I really want to, because then I’d seem immature or look like a “bad person”, so I’m just gonna say that she makes my life miserable and she always has… It’s been like this forever… Even when I was younger (about 9 & 10), she made me depressed, so I know I’m not just exaggerating or making these things up.

 

I was really going to kill myself today, but I’m scared and I don’t know how. The funny thing is: I only feel this way when I am in this house. Rarely anywhere else… 

How To Fall In Love With Yourself

Nice.

Thought Catalog

 Pink Sherbet Photography

Stand naked in front of a mirror for a long time, under unflattering light if possible. Trace the rises and falls of the little ripples on your skin — the scars, the dimples, the cellulite — and think about how much you try to hide these things in your day-to-day. Wonder why you hate them so much, and if this hate stems from somewhere within yourself, or as a result of being told all your life that it’s wrong to have physical flaws. Wonder what you would think of your body if you never looked at a magazine, if you never thought about celebrities and models, if you never had to wonder where someone would rate you on a scale of 10. Look at yourself until the initial recoil softens, and you can consider your features in a more forgiving frame of mind.

Listen to the music which makes you…

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I’ve Come to This Realization…

Being at my grandparents’ house for a long period of time is what causes me to be depressed. (I live with them). There seems to be some negative vibe in my house. Or maybe a negative spirit following me.

Whenever I am at my grandparents’ house for a long period of time without doing much or going back to NY with my mom for a weekend, I get depressed again. The past two months, I haven’t once been depressed or sad for a long period of time. The past two months, I went to NY practically every weekend and I saw my mom often. I was also at my uncle’s house a lot. It has to be this house because I’m even happy in school. Maybe I’ve inherited bipolar disorder from my mom. I’m not sure.

As SOON as I am here again more often, I am BADLY depressed. I have been having suicidal thoughts literally at least every 10 minutes. I’ve been thinking about how I could kill myself, and what could really go wrong. I’ve been having really intrusive thoughts and regretting my life. I’ve been wishing my mother aborted me… All of that good stuff. I think something might be wrong with me. I’ve also been feeling like complete crap because of some things I did a few months ago even though they are pretty small compared to the things that most teenagers my age do these days. I’m just feeling really regretful. Wishing I could take things back. Wishing I was never born. Or that I could just kill myself. Wishing I was never born.

Hopefully my mom will start picking me up again more often and taking me back to NY with her more often so that I can get rid of this melancholia.

I think I’m going insane. I feel like no one is there for me. Not even my own mother or my “best” “friends”. 

I seriously wish I was never born. Or could start over. I want to kill myself.