Thoughts Almost Realistic

My father has cancer; has had cancer since I was in fourth grade.

He has pills and medicine that he has to take, prescribed for him and only him. Many nights I have woken myself up while everyone was asleep and stared at the pills. They just laid there, on the counter, waiting to be eaten. I knew they were for my dad to take, to help him get better, but nothing was going right for me.

I wasn't losing as much weight as I have wanted. I was starting to cut myself, and my friends were slowly - one by one - starting to abandon me. My grades were slowly slipping, once my friends started leaving. Next to losing weight, they were all that kept me grounded. Now that they were gone, losing weight and harming myself - in any way I could - seemed to be all I was capable of doing. I mean, I couldn't keep my friends, school didn't make sense to me, and my family was always bickering and yelling at one another.

One night - this wasn't too long ago - I actually took out two packs. In each pack, there were four pills. I just moved them around in my hand, considering whether or not to actually put them in my mouth and swallow. I also looked at the knife drawer, considering bringing a knife to say hello to my wrists. But I didn't do either. I chickened out, put the pills back, and tried to fall back asleep.

And when I think about it, I'm glad I didn't swallow those pills. Cause my father needed them more than I did, and I am sure there are other ways out of this.

I still cut, I still starve myself, so it's only a matter of time before I get something done.
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Jul 29, 2010