I wrote an entry that I was going to post up here, but I'm not sure if I want to. I was very honest in it, so honest that I scared myself. I think I'm going to hold on to it for a few days and then decide if the internet is ready for me to unload myself onto it.
My entry, though, was based on a conversation I had today about cutting. I am not a cutter, nor was I ever one, but I was pretty darn close. I went to one of my English classes today, my one on John Milton, and we talked about depression. And then today I was reading again the story To Write Love on Her Arms.
I just wanted to say to anyone who has ever struggled with depression, anyone who has ever loathed themselves so much they just wanted to give up, to die--I just wanted to say that--
It's all so cliche. Nothing I say can make things better, but know that you are not alone. I used to think I was, and now I know that there are hundreds, thousands of people just like me.
And I love them all.
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