She'll always be too young
From my point of view
To see who I am
And know what I do

But I'm an expert at this game
And if I play it carefully
She'll never have to know
That everyday's a fight for me

I'll lie through all her questions
And hide away my scars
But even when she sees them
She won't know quite what they are

"The cat scratched me"
Is a common reply
"I fell onto a rosebush"
Another perfect alibi

"I tripped when I was rollerblading
And went straight into a ditch
A piece of glass, it cut my arm
They had to fix it with a stitch"

"I fell down a cliff in the ravine,
I had a concussion too"
There's always a better answer
Than the truth about what I do

I was almost 16 when she was born
A sophomore in high school
More together then, than I am now
I still obeyed every rule

But as I got older everything changed
Explaining feelings I'd had as a child
I began to get why I secretly cried
But then covered things up, and smiled

For even as a young girl
Inside I knew it was true
You had to be smiles and rainbows
For anyone to like you

As I learned more and more
I became more depressed
And I tried really hard
But grew more and more messed

I learned that dreams I'd had
Ever since I was small
Had actually happened for real
I wasn't making them up at all

So, now they know why
I am the way I am
But it doesn't change the treatments
It just explains their plan

A lifetime of drugs and therapy
That's what I have to look forwards to
For as long as I live, I'll swallow pills
That will make me into someone new

They'll change the person that I am
For even though without them I'm slipping away
Things I've been through make me myself
And the drugs send me away

So, until I find a way to escape
Though I fear I never will
I'm stuck here dripping with blood
And swallowing yet one more pill

At least the pain reminds me
That I'm still alive and well
That I haven't quite yet died
I'm still on earth, I'm not in Hell

This letter is to anyone.. or no one.. I don't really know. I guess I should be writing in a diary or something- I just need to get this stuff down and out of my head.

I should probably be back in the hospital right now.. I mean, in all honesty, I suppose it was a suicide attempt. A very pitiful and nowhere near successful suicide attempt, but an attempt none-the-less.
Except, I'm not sure that I really wanted to die. I tried. God knows, I tried. I wanted so badly to hit something vital.. for the desperation of my outside circumstances to match the desperation I feel inside.
Well, that, and the blood. I wanted to see the blood, spurting with every pulse of my heart. I wanted to see that beautiful, crimson pumping out of my body.
But, I had my phone right there.. I could have called 911 so easily, and so fast. I could have had ambulances and police cars at my house in seconds and "heroes" running into the house to rescue me.
Rescue.
That's the word.
I can't imagine ever being "rescued". I can't imagine anyone ever pulling through and "saving" me from myself.
And, that's what it is. My mom thinks that she can make things better by taking shit away from me.. the blades, the knives, the matches, the lighters, the needles, etc.. she thinks that removing the temptation will be enough, that making all the same cursory attempts any parent makes when their child is slipping away will be enough, that it'll make me "all better again" (as if that were even possible at this point).
And, the thing is, one would think that would make sense.. but, that's based on the common belief that it's those things that she takes away from me that are a danger to me, and not, as is the case, that I am a danger to myself.

**to be continued....**.. someday.. **