Journal Entry 1

I realized all I had was myself a long time ago. When I was bullied. When I was cutting myself. When I couldn’t focus in school so I skipped and failed. Now as an adult all I still have is myself. But s**t at least now I can handle it. I don’t punch holes in walls anymore or have psychotic breakdowns (too often) but I’m still just as broken.  You deal with s**t. But I don’t feel like dealing with anything anymore. I want to go back to my fifteen year old rage ridden self, and break glasses, kick down doors, cut myself up and down my arm. Everything to do with me has always been a joke anyways, and my parents would just have some kind of snarky two cents to put in instead of actual advice. Nobody cares enough to help me but they would care if I died. Like they deserve to. I don’t want to be baggage. I hate bothering people like I used to. I’m so afraid to let people see this side of me still. I used to be literally insane. Insanity that couldn’t compare to anything else. Now it’s the opposite. I hide my emotions, and I hide them well. I like to think of myself as changed but it’s a fat f*****g lie. I have a job. Awesome. Graduated high school with honors. Amazing. What else? Nothing. I’m garbage. I had a few accomplishments, big deal. From the way I used to be I thought it was a big deal. I could have gotten a lousy GED, I could be addicted to heroin, I could have dropped out and been like half of the people in this society, but no. I made some progress. Guess I have to see it as a positive thing. Always try to persevere.