I fully realize that yesterday I posted in the morning about how I was getting back on top in school, and how I was hoping to feel less stressed. How I was basically happy it was a Monday, though I couldn't pinpoint why.
Then about 6 to 8 hours later, I posted, simply, "It's over. I'm done. I'm sorry."

How to explain this?
I was in a good mood. Or at least alright. Or who knows, maybe I was faking happy and I was just so good at it that I was fooling myself. I don't know. And things were fine, until about noon. Then I started getting tons of anxiety, panic attacks, I couldn't focus in Chem, I didn't want to do anything. Just like that. No warning, nothing to trigger it. I just dropped.
I started trying to pick myself up after that, or at least pretend I was okay. A friend I kinda talk to occasionally asked me if I was alright, and I just smiled and said that I was fine. I didn't want to talk about it or explain anything. My headphones also broke, and I was supposed to get replacements today, though I haven't gotten the email yet. So I was just waiting on that.
Then I got home, and shit fell apart. As soon as I walked in the door.
I don't even want to get into what set it off right now, because just thinking about it makes me want to punch a wall.
I had an emotional breakdown, and everything just hit me. I don't really know how to explain it.
I have this feeling of desperation mixed with such an anger I can't hardly put words to it. I am not a violent person, but I have been wanting to self destruct. Put simply, I had come to the conclusion that if I had weed, I'd be high so I didn't have to think. If I had alcohol, I'd get drunk. Didn't matter. Which, for any of those that don't know me, I am not a drinker. I have never had the ambition to want to drink.After everything with my mom, I basically just lost that desire. Which was fine with me, because it didn't appeal to me. The reason it does now, is because it is a way to self destruct. It is a way to hurt myself. And that's where my focus is. That's the extent of my anger and desperation. I don't have anywhere to place it, or anything to act as an outlet so I take it out on myself. I've tried several things. But nothing just seems to be enough. Nothing. So I use myself. And food.
So yesterday, I didn't have anything left. I mean, really, it's stupid. But it isn't to me. So what did I do? I couldn't control myself and food, not at that moment. But I got angry and tried to erase myself. I cut so much, all down my left arm, all over my legs, and near my collarbone. I don't know why I chose those places, but if I had to take a guess, it would be that I could cut deeper there without hitting anything major. I barely cut near my collar bones, so it was mostly just my left arm and my legs. But even that wasn't enough. I couldn't cut deep enough, and I only used my blade, not my knife. I don't know why, but I've been thinking about it.
And even that wasn't enough. I needed to do more. So first I destroyed my room. I tore everything off of the walls, everything that I had carefully placed in order, and destroyed everything. Then I sat in the middle of all the destruction and I cried for a while. I don't know how long, but I did. I had locked my bedroom door so nobody could get in, and I couldn't get out. And I just cried. Then as the tears stopped (momentarily) I got angry. So angry. You know how some people say that they see red? For the first time ever, I understood that. There was no calming me down, no helping me. Nothing. I was literally seeing red. I punched my wall a few times, but stopped after my dad started bitching. I wanted to scream, but I didn't think I would ever be able to scream loud enough. I didn't know what to do. So I tried cutting again. I don't have my lighter anymore, so cutting is the only thing I have. But I think I realized subconsciously that I couldn't keep cutting, due to the fact that I didn't want to lose too much blood. And I had to hide it. So I moved on to the next thing that came to my mind, not really thinking about it. I took everything in my room that defined it as mine - all the pictures, the poetry I'd written as well as others' poetry, all the art, the Eating Disorder quotes, Inspirational quotes, little things I'd kept that had meaning (ticket stubs from concerts, guard medals, roses, etc.) - and destroyed it. I threw everything, and I destroyed as much as I could. I took everything out of my room, everything I possibly could. Just gone. Just like that. Now my room is empty. White. There's my bed, a tv, a bookshelf, and a desk. But that's it. Walking in there, it could belong to anyone.
It's no longer mine. But even that didn't make me feel better. Cue more tears. I cried. I said the most horrible things I could to myself, I wanted to leave my house but I had nowhere to go, and I planned on dying. I don't have enough emotional outlet to express how I feel. When I get like that, nobody can stop me. I get so destructive, and I usually turn it toward myself. Because I just don't have anything else I can let it out with. It's so frustrating.
After that, I just curled up in a ball on my bed and cried some more. Again, I don't know how long I layed there. I didn't want to cry. I was angry, I wanted to hurt and destroy. I wanted to break things. But I just cried. Eventually, I fell asleep. I think. I catnapped. When I woke up, I heard my dad downstairs listening to his music (you can always tell because you can feel the bass) and he was talking and laughing with S. Then I heard my dad come upstairs and talk to S's son, telling him how good he did working with my dad that day, how much money he made, how much he appreciated the help.
And I just reached for the razor blade.. again. Because I am never good enough. My own dad, the one person I had left that was supposed to love me and help me, doesn't. He has never told me he's proud of me, or that he appreciates something I've done. He's never made conversation like that with me, and I've lived with him for 17 years. I am like the black sheep in my family. Nobody wants me around. And I don't want to be around.
In about 4 weeks, my family is going to disown me. I am pretty much 100% sure I will fail all of my courses, and that I'll be stuck in summer school. And that is why they will disown me. Because everyone is so used to me being a straight A student. I am always perfect, to them. Except I'm not. So I have that to look forward to. It just fuels the flames. That anger and desperation I tried to describe above, that is exactly it. Nothing can help.
I know that I need to stop cutting soon, so that everything will heal by summer. I need it to. Because then it'll be a lot harder to hide in my hoodie, and I don't want people asking questions. And I don't want Cimiron to see it either. I am trying to keep him out of all of this. I'm trying to repeat that mantra I've recently adopted. "2 months... 62 days". It's less now, but you get the point. 2 months. I just have to make it 2 more months, and then all this shit can fade for a little bit. Or so I am hoping. And so people are telling me. I'm trying to make it that far, but even then I am starting to doubt that I will. I am doubting that I have the strength. Everything sets me off now. I don't show it around others, but I take it out on myself.
I don't want to go home. I had the ACT today, which is why I didn't have school. I've been at the library. I don't want to go home though. Just to be around more people that I don't want to see, more things to stress about. Part of me knows that if I go home I will probably just end up eating, which will set me off, and then I'll end up crying on my floor or destroying more things. Not that there is really anything left for me to destroy.. I need to do something.
I realize that I am an entirely too sensitive person, but at the same time, I can be the most unsensitive person. It's weird. But I'm also very passive aggressive  I can't tell people if they piss me off, unless I'm really mad at them. Otherwise, I just kinda sit in silence and get back at them in ways they won't actually realize. Then and only then do I feel better. It isn't one of my better traits, because you can't exactly tell if I'm mad at you. I'm also really awkward around people. Like I can only handle talking to people for short amounts of time, or being around them for short amounts of time, because otherwise I just get awkward. Even if it is someone I know really well, or someone I've been friends with for years. I still can't do long interactions. I don't know why. I don't know if this is something you grow out of, or if I'll always be like this around people. I mean, I can comfortably sit in a room with several people for long amounts of time, as long as they are talking and I'm not. But I can't actively participate in a group or be around people very long when I am the one that is talking. Man, I am just that messed up, I guess.

For those of you who have reached out to me in the past, and found that you were unable to help me.. Please. Just know it isn't your fault. I think I really am truly crazy. I get it from my mom. It isn't your fault and you shouldn't have to help me. You shouldn't have to be the thing keeping me up. I understand that. And I don't blame you for not being able to help. I am so grateful to you for everything. It does mean a lot to me, and if it weren't for you guys, I don't know where I would be. So please, just don't blame yourself.