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When It's Too Hard To Live...

By , Birmingham, AL
This is HARDCORE.
BEFORE YOU READ THIS KEEP IN MIND THAT IM STILL HERE AND I'M OKAY. DO NOT BE AFRAID OR FREAKED OUT. I'M LETTING GO OF MY PAST, DON'T HOLD ONTO IT, PLEASE. HERE YOU GO..

I'm back. I've been thinking. I'm really scared. I'm so scared. I think I'm better now. I'm happy. I'm away. What happens when I go back? What will I do? I'm always sad at home. I'm never this way. I never wanted to get better until I came here. My Dad said, "You're okay, we just have to move ahead."...but what if I can't, what if I stop short? What if I go back to my old self? What if I try something stupid again? Where will I end up. My Mom told me once that she can't take care of me. That it's too much for her. She says she worries too much about me. It hurts her. Excruciating pain that will never leave until I'm better. She cries a lot. In the car, at home. She cried the day I left. She was screaming. She was yelling that she was done. That it was unbearable to see this happening to me. That she had to get me away. I thought she gave up. I thought she didn't love me. She was saving me AND herself. She needed me to get help. She only wanted me to get through this. So now I think back to that day in the parking lot, all three of us-my mom and I crying. Bawling because things were just all wrong. And the tears dripped down my cheeks, and I let them run. Because I didn't see the people around me. I didn't see all the cars driving by. All the people with their own problems. I didn't see them. I only saw my Mom crying and screaming at me. Wanting me to get better. She was dying inside. I think that's the first time in my fourteen years that I noticed what I was doing to her. I cried not only because she cried, I cried because she was seriously afraid of what I did. She was seriously scared. And she didn't know what to do. I think that's why she was so sad. She didn't know what to do to help me. So she sent me away again. She sent me away because she loves me. And I know that now. I got better, I think. I got the help I needed. That night though, the night when I gave up on everything, that was the first time I realized I was wrong. Before, even though my friends told me to stop, none of it seemed bad. It wasn't until that night that I saw that I was seriously messed up. And I looked at my life and I couldn't bare to watch. Because I hated myself for it all. So I tried. And it didn't seem so serious. It just seemed like something that was there and real and it was the only thing that I felt like I could hold onto. And now here I am, better and happy. And I feel so stupid because of that night. Those stupid thoughts that almost ended something so pure, so beautiful, something so meaningful. My life. And if you read this and get scared or weirded out. Don't be, I'm just being real. Because this is my way to express things. This is my way to get better. And if you're worried, know that I'm so much better now. And I don't feel like that anymore. And I know I have so much to hold onto. SO MUCH TO BREATHE FOR!

So today, breathe for the people who feel like they can't anymore. Breathe for the people who are about to give up. Pray for me to stay better. Pray so that no one has to feel what I felt. Because we are worth so much. We have a purpose. A pure purpose. Don't give up. FUFILL IT!

Love you,

A Survivor





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