I spend most of my time debating if I have enough pills to kill myself, how people would react and what my suicide letter should say. Everything’s just getting worse and no one really knows what exactly is wrong with me and no one is able to help me. “It gets better,” BUT HOW? WHEN? It’s not like I’m just gonna wake up one day and have a normal mind. Everyone’s either giving up on me or telling me to get a grip. But I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I scare myself. I’m paranoid. I isolate myself completely. At Christmas eve I locked myself in the bathroom and purged for an hour. I just want to disappear, but somehow everybody seems to think I want attention. That’s the last thing I want and the last thing I deserve. I don’t deserve help. I don’t deserve anything but pain. But nobody fucking believes me. Everybody thinks I’m happy just because I’m smiling, but they can not see what’s inside of my mind, and I’m too scared to tell because it’s… well, a mess. Nothing makes sense. Even my bones are screaming that they want to get out of this body. I just don’t belong in here. My body is just a shield that gets healed when it’s hurt, but what about inside? No one can heal that.