Holy shit, found old notes. Long ain't it?

Days are becoming repetitive. Things I wished I had forgotten in the past have come back to haunt me once more. I am afraid of the past, the present, and the future that is to follow. Our youth is being wronged by those supposed to teach us, comfort us, and save us from whatever danger is coming to hurt us. They aren't doing that, except hurting us for their content. They pretend to acknowledge us, then disregard everything for their own pleasure and self-forsaken control of us. They make excuses for the sake of their child being normal since no child of theirs can be "crazy" – that's what they call it. Parents parent us, then complain when we don't meet their standards. They expect us to be like them, even identical, and yet are surprised when we aren't. We're not people to them but small, overgrown children. One might be an adult or a teenager on their way to adulthood, and still, we are thought to be silly children running around, getting into trouble, looking for attention.

Have you ever begged for something you needed so desperately? Have you gone as far as to beg a god you know doesn't exist, hoping they'll respond to your pleas? Or let's say being surrounded by all kinds of people who could help but still don't or can't just because you can't bring yourself to trust them. Wanting them to ask and ask, basically begging in your mind for them to ask the question, and yet it doesn't happen, or it does, but you can't answer truthfully. It's not a pleasant feeling or experience when you've been feeling like that for the vast majority of your life. Things only crash down in what seems like a spiral, straight down into hell you know you probably won't get out of. Spiraling down so much that you finally go crazy from desperation and helplessness.

I feel crazy, and now my mind turns to the worst option yet: suicide.

The thought of actually thinking one might be crazy is a wild one, but I think I have a lot of evidence pointing out that I might be crazy or at least on my way there. Let's take a look at some of the evidence. Like almost killing my mother a couple of times. She doesn't know this, no, but I have almost gone through with it. I stared down at her where she slept, holding a knife in hand. However, I left the room after having enough of it, of the nonsense.

I hear things, not voices but whispers, unintelligible ones, sounds that shouldn't be playing, and the feeling of bugs crawling on my skin. I got used to the feeling of the bugs, but before it made me paranoid. Hell, I still check if they're there.

The unbearable urge that was ripping my face out or grabbing at my veins and ripping them from their core. This should be enough to point to something being wrong with me, not to mention how violent my mind is at times, how sinful it can be, and how dangerous I would be to myself and others if I acted on them.

Now let's talk about my project, or at least where my mind is at the moment. I am once again thinking about the thing that haunted me in the past: the thought of dying by my hand.

Now and then my mind focuses on that idea, and I have even begun to welcome it. I find it interesting and sad to think about, considering my situation.

The majority of the time, I find myself utterly empty, filling that void with empty laughs and nonsensical things, but other times I'm overwhelmed with sadness or melancholy, turning my phone off and listening to it go off with messages and notifications while lying on my bed for hours on end. I've also been feeling bored with everything, feeling that it's become repetitive. When that happens, I sit on my bed in silence, waiting for something to happen or for Jacob to appear. I do this to entertain myself or to have something to do. Don't get me wrong; there are things to do aside from avoiding my mother getting angry at me, but it's just so boring to do.

I always have hope, twisted hope. I have given up many times, which many people are unaware of. My hope, my anchor, is to be able to do it only after my mother dies, only after I am left alone and completely purposeless. If I didn't have that hope, that anchor that's holding me down, down to the reality I'm struggling to stay in, I think I would have gone completely crazy by now.

It was always the same thing: I begged for help, searched for it, didn't find it, and ultimately gave up only for it to repeat, each time getting more desperate than the previous time. Audibly saying "I need help" knowing I wouldn't get it.

It was all the same routine, and now I'm bored of it as well. I know it will be years until I get the help I need. However, if I'm going to be completely honest, I don't know if I'll even last that long. I have hope, but I'm losing it again, I'm losing my mind, I really can't do this alone. I managed before, but it's difficult to keep up; it's hard to deal with the same thing over and over and over again. It's difficult to resist the urges that come to me, the breakdowns, and the overall sadness that consumes me.

I might end up going insane, and I am worried about the future where that might happen, where it will.

I'm worried for myself and mainly for the people around me because if I don't hold on, I might kill someone. Whether it is me or someone else, I am sure something will happen, and when it does, I will be doomed.