You don't understand.

"You don't understand." How many times have I said this? How many time have this been said? How many times have teenagers plead the case of, "You don't understand?" We, as teenagers, for some strange  reason, believe we are the only teenager on the planet, and that is why, "You don't understand." However, just for a moment, let's think. Does anybody truly understand anyone? You can't read somebody's mind.

"You don't understand," because you don't, you really don't. You don't understand why I used to be suicidal. You don't. Don't even pretend that you do. I am not bullied or harassed or anything you happen to be thinking of. I just believed I had a life not worth living.  Just when I think I find someone who understands, it turns out they don't. My best friend who went through depression and seems to be perfectly in-sync with me, didn't understand. He just assumed my problems were about boys, parents and school. Yes, those things were contributing factors, but that wasn't quite it. I couldn't explain it to him. The girl who cuts her own wrists because the sight of her own bloods allows her to breathe again. I thought she would understand. She didn't. She was more fascinated with what I did with my thoughts than what my thoughts actually were. Lastly, is the boy who I have know since, I don't know, maybe, forever. Let's just call him Robert. Robert and I against the world. Always has been and, hopefully, always will be. He recently told me he was gay. This didn't come to a big shock to me because he made it almost obvious his whole life. Still, he used to deny it, so when people called him gay, I told him he wasn't. So, I decided, to make him more comfortable about being gay, I decided to tell him my big secret. My big secret about my thoughts. He told me he understood because he used to be suicidal too, but I knew he would never truly understand. I may have let it go, but he made me realize the worst eight years of my life were over. I was over the hill and into the clear. Even if those were the worst eight years of my life, he was there for every step. I don't want to live in denial anymore, just like how I don't want Robert to either. I didn't "used to be" I am. I am suicidal, and I'm trying. I really am. But for now, if you do not understand this post just ignore it because "you don't understand." You probably never will either.

I Love You

I Love You

People always scold me or question why I want a boyfriend so badly. Isn't obvious? I want what everyone around me has: love. Yes, my mother loves me. The woman who says, "I hate you," more than she says the words "I love you." yes, my father loves me. The man who has never said those three words to me, and the man whom I will never be enough for. Yes, my brother loves me. The boy who looks at his sister like she's a waste of space. Yes, my sister loves me. The girl who is never home to say it to me. Yes, my best friend loves me. The girl who cannot even love herself. My grandmother loves me. The woman who was the only one who saw something special in me; the woman that died three years ago.

What do I want?

I am not asking for a boyfriend; I just want somebody to care and actually listen to what I have to say. I want someone to hold my hand and tell me it's okay, and I want someone who can tell me it's not okay too. I want someone to tell me good night and ask me how my day was. I want at least one person to try to understand this mess I call a mind. I just want someone to tell me if I finally see a therapist, no one will think I'm crazy. That someone is me. I want to love myself. I want to accept that I'm not a monster and that people do love me. I want myself to stop pushing people away because of the fear of rejection. I want to be loved by me.