How do I begin to explain something that shouldn’t have even happened? And why did it? That, I’m still trying to figure out… how did it start? I can’t say. Not because it’s a secret, but because I don’t know. Even if I did know at one point, I’ve made myself forget. It makes it easier. Now it’s just a story-and not mine. But I can tell it.
There was a journal. And I loved it. Should I have written in it? I still don’t know. At the time, it helped. But in the long run, it ruined everything. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it saved everything. I’m still trying to figure that out too. Journals are secret, right? Well they should be, but not in this story. There open for everyone to read. Family, friends, doctors, nurses, and every person you can think of. Is that alright? If it saves someone’s life? I personally don’t think so, but everyone else does. Why? Apparently it made things better- I don’t see how, but everyone says it was right to breech someone’s privacy just to save them.
Here’s the other thing important to this story: lies. Lies about everything. Hurt. Feelings. Care. Love. Willingness to help. They are all lies and will always be. That’s how I ended up in the hospital-through lies. Should I really care though? If it saved my life? Everyone lies-so why should I be mad? But this lie affected me, and will for the rest of my life. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it was helpful and I will realize how depressed I really was. Or not. I know I could have gotten through it, but no one took the time to know that. So was it really my fault that people didn’t know? They could’ve taken the time to listen, but they didn’t. which made me wrong.
It was useful though. I got to actually talk to people. I was surrounded by people who all they had to do was listen to me. But did it actually have to be that way? I know the answer to that. No, it didn’t need to happen like that. Someone could have just listened. But that wasn’t a possibility. It was right in the middle of my parents’ divorce- bad timing, right? But that’s not really my fault. My journal didn’t need to get read, I didn’t need to get lied to and pushed in the hospital, and I didn’t have to spend a month there. But maybe it is my fault. Maybe I should have not written anything and left all my thoughts to myself. Maybe I should have not felt that way. Maybe I could have actually talked to someone. But I didn’t.
So then the hospital was the only other option. Or was it? Technically no. I could have actually done it. That’s a big decision to make though. People think that something like taking a life, especially your own, is a big deal. And yes I agree. But it’s not someone else’s decision to make- it’s your life, and you should be able to do what you want. But that’s not really how it is. People take too much control over other’s lives, which is defiantly not right. So people who take their own life are finally taking control over something that is actually theirs-and yet there doing something wrong… How does that work? I don’t know, and I never will. Because people take more control than they are supposed to have.
Parents think they know best. But do they? Doctors have degrees because they think know best. But do they? Who really knows best? No one. Does a kid who takes their life know? They know better than anyone else. And yet people say their wrong. And the decision they made was wrong… Why? Because people who have never felt the way they have, decided that they are. Well maybe there right. Maybe they just wanted someone to listen, and no one did…