Depression Is So Difficult

When I was 7 (yes, I am 14 - nearly 15) I found out my mother had been a heavy drinker since the year before I was born. She dialed it down while she was carrying me, but she went back to the "usual protocol" after I was born.

The year I turned eight, I found my mother in the living room smelling of wine and she had that grin on her face and the tired eyes. This is how I found her every day while my father was on business trips. The reason why my mother is an alcoholic is because her father died the year before I was born. As a matter of fact, 364 days before I was born exactly.

My mother drank herself to sleep at 6pm and I was afraid to stay awake all by myself so I went to sleep as well (in dad's spot), and the waiting begun. I couldn't fall asleep so early, so for 4-6 hours I would just lay there, turning from side to side, crying and crying.

Last December my parents had been separated for a year and my father filed for divorce. Before this, my mother gave me and my brother money to keep her drinking a secret from my dad.

On New Years Eve in 2008/2009 I was done. I wanted to take my own life, end it all. As my mother left to hit the town after promising me 200 dollars to keep quiet, I went to the balcony on the second floor and stood there. I looked down at the wet grass and wondered if God was real. I wondered if I would really end my life if I jumped. Would it have to be higher? All this seemed so natural to think about when wanting to commit suicide. But I didn't jump, obviously. The only reason why not was because I was afraid. I was afraid I wouldn't die.

I've been trying to jump ever since, but I don' know if 13 feet is going to cut it. I still want to kill myself. It's partially because of my mother, partially because I don't feel accepted in society. I feel like a constant outcast, like I'm not beautiful enough for anyone. I can't even look myself in the mirror and not think about how hideous I am and how I don't deserve to live another day. I keep thinking how I'm not fit for life.

I'm too afraid to tell my father, too scared to tell my friends (friend, really. I only have one good friend), and it makes me nauseas to even think about it.

I cry very often over nothing and I keep running up the stairs, opening the door to the balcony and I keep staring down, keep thinking of my mother. How peaceful would it not be to meet God in a handshake and for once feel accepted and safe?

CrazyBlueprint CrazyBlueprint
13-15, F
Feb 27, 2010