Prepare yourself for a read... Whats life for anyways? Oh, I get it, you grow up, find your soul mate along the way, get married, have children, watch them grow. Live the life you've dreamed of, be happy with your loved ones, watch them grow, while either living a successful life or one that's not what you wished for at all. I'm at 20 years of age, and have been self mutalating since I was.. 14? I remember cutting myself to prove to my mom that I wasn't scared of her abuse. I also remember not knowing that other people did this, cutting, self mutilation- I didn't know it existed. I thought I was on my own road here when I did it. So surprised in fact that when I was in the 8th grade and some chick showed me the scars on her hip, I was shocked to find that someone else found courage in slicing themselves like dinner. Then, years came, and I found it to be something, almost, natural. They say that people who self mutilate have a higher risk of committing suicide. Saw it in almost every Intervention episode on A&E. So I would sit there and think, 'huh, wow, kinda feel that way right now.', while always pushing myself into thinking that I didn't belong in that small percentage, above the influence, fighting for it all. Today was a bad day. When the weekend started, I had hoped that the week that would come, would be an exciting, amazing weekend. Because, you see, a guy that I find rather cute accepted my friend request. I had, have, a thing for him. Met him in my new High School that I transferred into after failing my Junior year, towards the end of mu senior year. And as a Sociopath, having a love interest is a joke. Of course I can't say I love him, I barely know him. Just know that he's cute, kind, funny, and a drummer for a local band that is highly appreciated. I wonder if I'll ever muster up the courage to approach him. Then in the long run tell him that I don't really like their style haha. I'm more of a classic rock type chick. Anyways, he had talked to me the first day he accepted. say 'hey you', like fast friends, encouraged that we hang out. And I thought to myself, looking at my average, if not thin physique that I work so hard to keep, and thought, maybe if I lose 5 pounds or 10, I'll be up to it- of course I didn't tell him that. Monday came, then it blowed and shattered. Tuesday came, then it did the same but worse. It was also when I realized, for the 4th time in my life, that without concealer and foundation, I look severely ill, thus I felt horrid and ugly. So I stepped away from the sun, and went to the bathroom, and applied make-up. Changed clothes for the new day, to look nice for grocery shopping, to pick up foods that had nearly nothing in calories but I would worry over none the less, all the while hoping that something in the house was expired so that I could get sick off that and puke out my stomach till it became near empty, so that I wouldn't have to do those 400 crunches, and arm workout routines. My mom came home, and the sparks began to fly. I have a younger sibling you see, and I failed at raising him as a dutiful older sister. I was going through my own teenage phase, just along the time that I was giving daddy duties because my father under appreciates my mom's discipline skills. Needless to say, my brother see's me as a low level scum, while my mother can't understand what a decent argument is if you taught it to her as the world ended. Towards the end I began to lose face and ran off to my room, to keep myself from crying, feeling alone and underappreciated as I always do, all the while reminding myself about what my dad said- chemical imbalance in the brain, affecting you, try to keep your cool. And I did manage to keep the tears in, but then found myself walking into the chilly streets in a daze and towards the nearby park, all the while trying to hide the design pattern scars that run along side my forearm, hidden easily if you place it by your side, hard to hide if you raise your hand. I got to the park, wearing something like spring cloathes rather then chilly winter, and sat there, with nothing but my wallet, my long bag, some make-up, and my phone, looking at it hoping that after my FB status of, basically, 'my family called me a worthless peice of ignorant shit', that instead of jokes, I'd have someone step in and cheer me up. Because that's what all suicidal's need according to suicide.org. Someone to encourage them into living, that not all is bad. Instead I got lousy jokes, and the occasional mislead. I hadn't told anyone I was leaving when I walked out the door, and yet, no one called, until I was 4 minutes away, and it was my mom, while getting back home figuring there was nothing better to do outside. I walked in, mother asked where I had been, natural at this point that I walked into my room without responding, since I always go for an unnanounced walk, well, not always. After awhile of lying on my bed and listening to Metric's cliche song named 'Help I'm Alive', my mom knocks on the door. I decide, what the hell. And there she stands, fresh tears, apologizing for what she had said. Hugging me, trying to force me to hug her back, and asking why I wasn't returning the embrace. And all I could think was, I'm a sociopath, what should I do? Keep lying, or express what I'm really feeling? So she said we'd go grocery shopping, in the meanwhile cut some lettuce. But I said no, and, with a face expressing nothing, told her I wasn't hungry, and that I wanted to stay in my room. All she said as I closed the door was, that I seemed strange. As to why I rarely show my face. Acting all day is too difficult. So I shop for food, pick something up from a friends, and head back home. Unload the groceries, my stomachs rumbling. I grab some mashed potatoes that she cooked, some rice, and a small slice of bread. Then go to my room, get onto my gaming console, join some "friends" in a party chat (basically, on the xbox360 controller there is a audx port to place a microphone in which you could speak through, to people with microphones as well, while in a party based with people you want to converse with). It was all going well. A "friend" was watching an old cartoon I favored, another quoted, another remained silent, and I laughed along with the voice acting. I'm not egotistical, nor self absorbed, despite me being an empty slate nearly all the time in a day alone. There was a mention of date rape drugs, and it was a joke. I was waiting at the menu's, for a game to start. (by menu's I mean the video games menus, for the host of the group to start the chosen game). There are some things with jokes. Sometimes, you don't know if they should be taken seriously, or as, simply, a joke. Kind of like with bomb threats, or when an emo fake who wants attention says they'll kill themselves, and it was a joke, but you aren't sure. This kid is a perverted mind. He belittles women. Finds them as sex toys, something to smack around with until he finds even a better looking women, then onto the next. He was deciding to do this at a convention. Now while it is a convention, there are beautiful women. It's not like it used to be. Hot women with nice bodies walk the halls, in their swim suits or as a character from a video game. His goal was to find a few and sleep with them. This man is unappealing. He is not charming. He is not attractive. The only way he can convince a beautiful women to sleep with him is if he got her drunk enough, or slipped a drug in... I work with people who run the convention. This convention, is amongst the top in America. A huge building, located in a bustling city location. The Hotel is famed for it's height and structure. So, if a young lady were to get raped, it would get out fast. The hotel might be sued for lack of security, the convention might be shut down since, as soon as you register, you become their responsibility. And even so, date rapes are a huge, HUGE, crime. So I warned him to not joke about it, to let it fall to my ears alone. He took the manner quite serious, thought I was bluffing when I said I could have him kicked out for implying the bringing of illegal drugs, because this isn't a Hangover flick, it's real life. He kicked me from the party chat. And me being me, couldn't let him have the last word. So I threatened him twice. And he still thinks I'm playing around with him. Now, with suicidal people, stress is perhaps one of the biggest mistakes we could throw ourselves into. Because as soon as he posted a status about me on Facebook, and everyone started calling me a bitch, the stress levels got high. Then when I found that even the people I trusted to be at my side and perhaps defend me were calling me a bitch, *****, etc, the bar got higher, and higher, to the point that, while playing strong and uncaring, I couldn't take it anymore. I kept my cool for a few more minutes, until I messaged a friend, asking him why he wasn't helping me. That I wasn't talking to him, or about him, just the one who started everything. But instead he decided to insult me, say that I thought myself superior. Never do I. How could I? I feel worthless. He rambled on about something I don't recall saying, I defended myself. He kept enforcing the idea. All the while knowing this guy would lie to start drama or an interesting conversation, all the while this 'friend' talking about the guy behind his back in an insulting manner. And yet, I was the target, the wrong doer. It kept driving me insane. I broke into tears along the lines of 'and here I was thinking you'd be someone I could talk to, when something serious came up. What the fuck was I thinking?' And then, this is when I looked to a cut out obituary snippet of when a classmate at my old school died. He was 18. He hung himself. There he sits with a pamphlet of another school student who died of heart failure... And yet I didn't have the decency to cry for him. Then, it hit me. I was lonely. No one to talk to. I could talk to my little brother, but he'd use it as blackmail later- that wouldn't help. And I'm older, I'm supposed to be stronger. Maybe my mom? She'd call the men in white coats and scrubs instead. My dad? He'd just make things worse. My friends?... What friends? Then I looked to the picture again, and spoke, to an empty room, all the while hoping someone was listening. I think my first words were. 'I understand now' or 'You're bold'. Here he had everything. A family with money, college in Florida, studying a good subject that he was smart enough to major. He could play the piano well. He had friends who loved him, maybe even parents who favored him, and siblings who looked up to him. He had looks, green eyes and dark hair, and a wonderful smile. I didn't know him enough to say whether he displayed signs, but never did I spot one. He looked like he enjoyed life. I cried for him. And here I was talking to myself about how I understood, how he had everything, how maybe he didn't have to stoop so low, that he would steal something small from a grocery store. What are we supposed to do? We hate ourselves. We might find that day where we live a happy life, but it'll always come back to us. Sure, you might say, take these pills. Oh, anti-depressants? Should I mention that I overdosed on those, doc? What do we do? Grow up, find our soul mate, have kids maybe, get married prior or after. Have a 'normal' life. Pretend to have a good life, buy that woman her ring or that man that TV, those kids those shoes they've wanted for awhile to 'fit in' and that style they wanna mimic with those toys. All the while saying you love them, knowing that it's simply because you NEED them because without that women, or mans care, to be there when you're crying with a tender gaze, you'd fall into an abyss of nothing and scratch at your skin till the pain became unbearable. Then you grow old, you watch everyone around you grow old, and then you die. But maybe not in that fairy tale type of life, rather, your lover left you, and now your kids blame you for that because your lover couldn't stand your self loathing anymore, couldn't deal with your constant depressing because it wasn't making them sad anymore like in the past, instead, it was annoying them, and they grew irritated of you. That's how our lives will be. Or you could forever conceal your self hate and desire to give up on everything, all the while knowing that there are cracks in the mask. I'm alive, right now. The only thing that's keeping me alive is what happens next year, when I turn 21. And no, it's not the drinking. It's the greatest gift I could give to my mom. Then, what? Sure I know, if I die, my mom will be distraught, my dad will blame everyone but himself. My younger brother might be upset but will be the standing pendulum for my mother. Over time the depression will linger less, but from time to time my mom will crack a tear or few when a commercial or smell or food reminds her of me. My friends will remember me less, quote me from time to time, wonder what drove me to that day, all the while wondering who I even considered a close friend, giving themselves wrongful titles. I'll never get to kiss that guys lips, or hold his hand, which I wonder, why I'm crazy about doing, even though I hardly know him. Then, I'll became a less unheard of subject, after my small funeral since no one likes me. Sure, my looks, have at it. But when it comes to who I am, no one gives that a double glance. I'll be burried or cremated, wither into nothing, all the while hoping that I end up in another life, and more over, hoping it isn't hell or limbo. And that's what keeps me here, I told nothing as I talked to myself in my perhaps empty room. He was bold. He killed himself, either knowing that, if there is an after life, he was doomed to burn in hell or rot in limbo, because even athiests, while they say that we'll just become dirt, have that 1% doubt, that 1% chance of there being an after life, and that's why most remain. I'm agnostic, I don't have the witts. Live and die here, now. Or die now and live an eternity of hell or nothing, and that, I can't live with. I took out the blade, a shitty old mini box cutter that couldn't even cut tape if you shoved it hard enough. My mom threw away my box cutter razor when I went to hang out at a college. She doesn't know I cut. Even though the marks run nearly to my elbow. Thank god for winter, and long sleeves, and makeup. But I put the shitty knife away knowing it wouldn't give me the satisfaction, since, the box cutter razor didn't hurt when it sliced me like a hot knife through butter. Wouldn't apply me with the steady, messy stream of blood that is mine alone. People who help, might say differently, but I am nothing. And my mom made that clear as I asked for respect in return since I'm here, and I give her respect. She made it clear, as she said, 'respect? for what? All you do is sleep, get up, do nothing, eat nothing, and sleep'. All the while, I wanted to say 'you forgot to mention drink and cry myself to sleep like a pathetic child'. I can't even bring myself to watch The Boondock Saint's because I wish I had someone in my life who would notice that something was wrong, or that I could talk to or have a drink with. The Macmannus brothers have it good. I essentially do nothing. I don't have the courage to find a job since I hate crowded areas. I'm not in college until August. I just stay at home, wake at 1pm, sleep at 4am, or 5am. Eat nothing but veggies and bread. Work out. Play video games. Now I don't even cut cause I don't have the favored tools... Who to talk to? Is what I wonder everyday when I'm crying my brains out. Who to text? Who can sit there and listen without asking me scripted questions. No one understands, truly, because everyone feels suicidal in their own ways, for their own reasons. And on top of that, I'm a sociopath, so who's to help me? But I keep living this painful life, because I won't take my chances of ending up in Limbo or Hell. Sometimes I wish, I could just tear my skin off my bones, and watch this pool of endless blood as I fade to nothing. And sometimes, I wish I could be like jim Halbert from the office and clear it all away with a beautiful love interest. So what do you do, when you have no one, no friends or family, to talk to? Is what I guess I can ask. What can be done, when, after years of therapy, psychiatry, and shrinks, nothings happened?