So I’m just going to write whatever I feel right now. I don’t usually do this. I write, but it’s usually well thought out and somewhat, planned, what I’m going to write. Kind of like my façade that I put on. It’s well planned and rehearsed. I’m a pro at what I do. I can hide a broken heart like no other. I can make the cuts “vanish” so no one even knows they’re there. They seem to be invisible to my parents. Or they’re just too blind to see. It sure seems like my parents just don’t care about how I feel. I think they’re afraid to realize that I actually am like this. I do cut, and I am depressed. They don’t want to admit it. But if I can admit, they should be able to deal with it and be there for me. But as per usual, they can’t deal with me appropriately. They yell at me, make fun of me, threaten me, and make me believe that what I believe in is wrong. They just treat me like shit and they don’t even realize it. They’re to warped and twisted in their own affair with each other, to even see it. I have all these feelings of tremendous depression, anger, angst, guilt. They can’t be cured. I try to make them go away but they won’t. Tonight I wrote a letter. It’s my pretend “suicide letter.” If I were going to commit suicide, that’s what I would say.

            Dad, Mom, and Family,

                        Tell Gv I’m sorry I broke her promise. Tell her thank you and that I love her. Mom, it’s not your fault, I just wasn’t strong enough. I hope you find happiness someday. I love you. Dad, thank you for giving me wisdom, and strength and the ability to hang in there as long as I did. But I just couldn’t anymore. Please contact Dillon Bauder and tell him that I love him more than he could have ever known. Please pray for me. Please forgive me. I love you guys.

Love,
Ellie

That’s my pretend suicide letter. Not a lot to say...I guess there isn’t really much to say. My actions speak for themselves. The thing that’s going to destroy me is myself. My brain plays tricks on me. It messes with me. Screwing up all my hard work. Causing me to relapse and sometimes, the relapses are so bad. Suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions. I’m so sick of feeling this way. I just want it all to stop. People don’t take me serious. They think that I’m fine, I’m just being dramatic. I’m not being dramatic. But if they want drama, a suicide would definitely fulfill their wishes. I’m sick of not being taken serious. I sick of being treated like a child. I guess you could call my actions and feeling “immature” but lots of people have these feelings. Teens, young children, adults. Anyways, all this talk of suicide and grief has really worn me down, so I’m going to hit the sack.

Ellie Cohutta