March 4, 2012
“I don’t understand what my point is. I mean, it’s like everyone else is sure of who they are. Then there’s me. I have no idea what I want to be, what I dream, or who I am. Why should I keep living if I have no purpose?”

The therapist made me stop at this point. She had been staring at me for the past hour, occasionally writing something down on her note pad. “Why shouldn’t you be living?”

“Because no one cares about me when I’m living. Also, I want people to react to something I do. I tried to cut, but I couldn’t bear it. It took some part of my life away, just by making me realize how much life hurt.” I paused. I had not realized that this was what I believed. “But I think I’m afraid that someone might admit to not hating me. I’m afraid that my family will freak, that my crush will admit to liking me, that my friends will suffer from depression. I’m scared.”

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