I tell everyone I'm fine, and that I'm a strong Christian. When in reality I hate God. I feel so fake because I have to pretend to be someone I'm not, and if I act like my true self I'm either called weird or dark.
I first started cutting when I was 14, because I hated myself and my family. Afterwards everything was fine for untill I turned sixteen. I began to constantly wish I was depressed again, I wanted to feel that raw authentic feeling that made me feel alive.
I never cut deep enough for blood to flow because I knew the scars would bring a topic to my parents that I was not going to ever talk about. But then one night, I did. And it was the most satisfactory feeling ever. I felt like I had finally accomplished something, it didn't even hurt.
Ever since that night, depression has been a recurring thing for me, but in some messed up way, I liked it. I hate smiling and acting so fucking good. I'm an emo at heart but if I ever told anyone, my parents would never leave me alone, and my whole class except for one person would judge me. If I could, I'd run away from it all. I'd leave behind everything that has ever tied me down and start a new life as someone who doesn't give a fuck about her actions. But I can't. To caring to put people through that pain. I know I will be missed. Missed by the people who make me want to run away in the first place.