Thursday, May 4th; 2017
I turned 17 today. I’ve spent my day recovering from a horrid trip caused by downing a bottle of NyQuil and emptying any bottle of pills I could get my hands on into my stomach. I just wanted to sleep, after a 3 day long insomniac episode. And honestly, I didn’t care if I woke up. But I did. I lived to see my 17th birthday.
I’m going to regret it.
When I was 14, I promised myself I wouldn’t become this pathetic, weak husk of what a survivor should be. But I’m incompetent; so of course here I am nearly an adult. My friends avoid me. I have no family. I have no education. I wish I knew what I was going to do with myself. At this point, I’ve become this empty waste of a person; a statistic. I really want to enjoy the privileges in my life, the good days, but I just can’t. I can’t find joy in anything anymore. In fact, I hate being sober and being anywhere where I can’t shut myself away. I hate feeling. I hate being stuck with myself. I just can’t help but hate.
The system is where I belong. I don’t think I’ll ever be free. Ever be healthy. Ever be at peace with my past and who I am: physically and mentally. A kid can only hope.
I don’t think I even have that anymore.