Getting better.

A year ago, if you asked me how I was, on of two things would happen; I’d give you a smile, say “I’m fine” and then go quiet for a while, or I’d get so angry and upset I’d break down in tears. If you asked me today, I’d say I’m fine. And the best part is that I’d actually mean it. At least 80% of the time. I’m not completely fine all of the time, and would still say I’m ill to some level. I’m just not as bad as I was a year ago.

Last year was emotionally the worst year of my life, and almost two years ago I tried to kill myself and I was put in a psychiatric unit for a month, and later on placed in the home I still live in today. I used to keep a razorblade with me everywhere I went for over a year. Last year I was sent to the hospital to get stitched up six times, and in all honesty, it was needed a lot more.

Now I don’t even count how many days it has been since I hurt myself last. I don’t need to count, because I’m sure it’s not going to happen again. I’ve stopped. And it makes me so happy, I can wear what the hell I want and I don’t have anything to cover up anymore.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m happier now. And I don’t regret not dying anymore. It’s all fine.


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