(Yes, I would like to credit my blog title to the P!nk song from her I'm Not Dead album)
I was cleaning out my closet the other day and I came across all of my old journals. I have kept a journal since I was about seven years old, as I have always found it therapeutic to write. I came across a journal that I kept from age twelve to age twenty-three.
I read through it for a few hours and was heart-broken by the girl that I once was. There is so much anguish in my writing. I was a distraught teenager, just desperately trying to belong. I know that the thirteen year old me wants to blame my parents. The thirteen year old me wants to blame all the what nots, maybe’s, broken promises, and empty hopes. Being a teenager is one of the hardest things we experience in our lives. The sudden surge of hormones has you laughing one minute, crying the next, and before you know it you are so angry—you could scream. Maybe not every teenager felt this way, but I know I certainly did. I decided to share one of my journal entries from December 1st, 1999.
I know this was supposed to be a “grateful” journal, but now I think I want it to be a diary. I really haven’t had the time to sit down and write what’s really going on. So, now I have the chance…and I feel like it needs to be written.
This summer I tried to commit suicide…twice. I thought it would never happen to me, but it did. I don’t really know why I wanted to, but it was just mainly because I felt like I wasn’t loved, nobody listened to me and I felt lonely and desperate. I still have thoughts about it, about doing it. But, I don’t think God wants me right now. I mean all I have to do is….I DON’T KNOW!!!!! Another reason was because I was told, I couldn’t be an actress.
If there was a way where I could put myself up for adoption, I would. You know all my parents do is yell, yell, YELL, YELL, YELL!!! I HATE IT!!! I wish I could live with Grandma. These past few weeks Aunt Chrissy asked me what I changed so much and what I was such a…..I can’t remember what she said.
Anyway, I wish I could move out for a few weeks away from my parents to find a way to be a better person and a way to respect them. Or, a way to find out something.
Today, a teacher gave me a really sweet card about how she “wonders what the future holds for me,” and “how sweet I am in class.” If only my parents understood how I felt. If they could understand that I need to I get away. But, I CANNOT runaway. It’s not right. I do not know what to do.
As you can see, I never succeeding in killing myself—even though I attempted it a few more times and eventually became a cutter—a terrible cutter, or just lucky that I have very few visible scars. Sometimes, I am constantly reminded of the thirteen year old me and how far that I have come along. I am happy. I have a good relationship with my parents now. I have a good family. I have amazingly, wonderful friends. I have a job—even though I hate it. I have enough money to pay bills and splurge a little—it is tough…but it is life. I have my health. I have a home.
I sit here writing, I know that I am meant for something more than just the corporate job and a cubicle space…I believe I am meant to help others. I believe I am meant to share my story. I believe I am meant to write. I am a driven, passionate, hard working person—I will do everything in my power to accomplish my goals. My life is what it is and was what it was. I am not defined or know by my past---I just had to go through it to be who I am today….a beautiful, strong, confident woman who loves endlessly and stops at nothing. I am moving forward and not holding back. I am who I am. I have a right to be here. I have nothing to prove.