[EDIT: this turned into far more of a depressive rant than I had originally intended, which I apologise for. I whinge about everything at the moment. It's also late at night here, so my thoughts are even more jumbled than usual, so I probably didn't say a lot of what I wanted to, or as well as I'd wanted to. If you want to skip the rant, just read the first paragraph and then the last two. Any advice or whatever is greatly appreciated. Sorry again for the rant.] Okay so...I have an appointment with my psychiatrist (who I've not seen since May) on the 19th, and I'm trying to figure out what to do. The truth is I can't do this on my own anymore and I seriously doubt I'll survive longer than a few months more unless I get serious professional help and an understanding support network.I attempted suicide in July by overdosing, which no one found about about, since the guilt got the better of me and I overdosed, but not anywhere near the fatal amount I'd originally intended. Had some awful side effects for about a week and a half afterwards, but I don't think it's done me any long term harm. I've told no one irl about this (I've only told people on this forum and a couple of online friends). The self harm has also been getting worse. Three weeks ago today, I cut the deepest and most widespread I've ever cut, on both my thighs. Today they look about half way towards healing, but I don't know if the marks will be permanent or not. I cut the word 'FAILURE' into my left thigh, which has been serving as a daily reminder of what a piece of shit I am. I've also been cutting my stomach a lot, although this is less deep, and the marks are very unlikely to be permanent. I hate my life. I know that sounds so selfish and ungrateful when there are so many people in the world going through so much worse than me, but I do. Every day is the same. I just piss my life away on the computer. What else do I have to do, right? The past 3 years have been utter hell. I've spent them miserable, inside these same four walls. Inside my own private hell. I hate myself. I hate what I've let myself become. I don't know the people I share a house with anymore. Apparently, they are my family. They haven't known me in I don't know how long. I haven't known myself in I don't know how long. I spend all day alone in my room, staring at a computer screen. All I ever do is kill time. How long before time kills me? What's the point in survival for the sake of survival? All I do is waste my life away, and I hate myself for it. I have no ambition left. I just don't care anymore. My life has no purpose. I'm sick of the MDD. I'm sick of the Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm sick of the Social Anxiety Disorder. I'm sick of being held captive by my own mind. I hate not being able to sleep all night and then feeling sick all day. I'm sick of the constant anxiety. I'm sick of living. Last week, I came pretty close to suicide again. Now I don't know what to do. I've decided that I will stick around until early January, and see how I go from there. I feel so much guilt. The only reason I haven't killed myself yet is because of my family. But they don't seem to care or understand. I don't feel loved anymore. So many sleepless nights I've wanted nothing more than for someone to hold me, but there is no one. I yearn for love and acceptance. I yearn for human contact and yet, paradoxically, I hate every moment of human contact with anyone right now. Mainly because I know full well that they'd never understand, I suppose. I feel such profound loneliness. I haven't really been close to anyone in years. The sad truth is that I'm closer to people online than I am to my own family. I haven't had any friends irl for years. All my old friends left me. Probably because I'm such a useless, socially inept, depressive piece of shit. I've pretty much learned to stop trying when it comes to making friends. All people ever bring is pain. It's just not worth it. I reject people before they can reject me. I've never fit in or belonged anywhere in my whole life. I've always been the weirdo, the freak, the outsider, the loner. The emotional scars left from years of incessant bullying in high school will stay with me forever. I'm at the point now where I think I'm too fucked up for anyone or anything to fix. This bullying (mostly by males) along with the way my dad has treated me has left me with somewhat of...almost like a phobia of men. My social anxiety is bad enough as it is with other females, but when I have to talk face-to-face with a guy, I literally feel like throwing up. I'm terrified of other human beings. It's pathetic. The curse of social anxiety is that the one thing you want more than anything - love, friendship, intimacy, a genuine connection with someone - is the one thing that you fear most; the one thing that you can never have. I've pretty much come to accept now that any friends I have (including online friends) will gradually become more and more distant and eventually just stop talking to me and reject me. This has happened with a few of them already. I'm just shit with people. I don't deserve friends. And they don't deserve me. I've also come to accept the fact that I'll never feel close to anyone, and certainly never be in any kind of romantic relationship. I can't even look guys in the eye. Just being around them makes me feel nauseous with anxiety. And I don't know how anyone could look at me and ever feel anything but disgust. I'll be alone forever.... Anyway...I've gone off on a depressive rant there (again). The main thing I wanted to get at with this post was...how do I tell my psychiatrist all of this, and SHOULD I tell her? When I told her about my dad hitting me and stuff in the past, she forced me to tell both my parents about it, at a time when I was already feeling awful. My parents had recently divorced at the time, so having to tell them only make things between them even worse. It also made my dad hate me even more. She tried to get a social worker involved, but thankfully didn't after I begged her not to. She also threatened to tell my mum if the self harm got any worse. That was early this year, and the self harm HAS gotten worse since then. By the way, all the this is happening even though I'm 17 (I turn 18 in less than 2 months' time). Confidentiality my ass. I just wondered...should I tell her about the suicide attempt and everything else? 'Cause if I don't then I really can't see myself surviving much longer. I get zero support from my family. All they ever do is moan and yell at me about things I do because of the depression which I can't help, such as sleeping in, isolating myself from them, not wanting to be around them, doing nothing all day, etc. But at the same time (and as ironic as it sounds) I don't want to hurt them. And I can't imagine them ever understanding the self harm or the suicidal thoughts and planning in a million years. Knowing my dad, he'd think I was just doing it for attention (he thinks I do everything for attention, which is the exact opposite of why I do it). And knowing my mum, she'd either blame herself, or just completely deny everything. And I DEFINITELY do not want my siblings knowing about any of this. I really don't want ANYONE to know, but what other choice do I have? I've (barely) made it this far on my own, but now I really have reached my breaking point and I can't do this alone anymore. I need fucking help. I'm sick of this life which I don't live. I'm sick of the derealisation and depersonalisation. I live in a semi-concious, dream-like state. I'm sick of living in a computer screen. I'm sick of being trapped inside my own mind. I just want all of this to end. So yeah...I'm fucked either way. If I don't tell her (the psychiatrist), I'm a goner. If I do tell her, all hell will break lose, since she'll definitely have to tell my parents. I'm trying to weigh up my options right now. Does anyone know what other consequences there might be? (Like if I tell her about the suicide attempt in July or the suicidal planning right now?) Would she have to get anyone else involved or anything? Also, would she have to tell my parents or whoever immediately? 'cuz I want them to at least enjoy the festive period before dumping all this on them, if I choose to do so. I can't deal with this shit anymore. I keep wishing for it to go away, but it never does. I've spent years in this private hell I call my life. I have nothing to lose, but nothing to gain either.