Okay just to briefly explain what this is...
I wrote this as I was in the hospital in December of 2016. I was sick and tired and basically dying and so I reflected on my life and what got me here. I share a lot of personal stuff in here so...yeah. Sorry. I compiled it into a sort of journal entry and I'm going to publish it in here for now so I can look back on how stupid I was and hopefully I can grow from this.

You don't have to read this if you don't want to. It's what people keep calling dramatic. Yeah it is but at the time it really did fit what I was feeling and thinking.

What about me? When do I get the chance to ask...what about me?

What is best for me? What do I need?

I need help. I need a lot of help. And I've never said that out loud ever in my life.

I didn't need help when I was the kid in the closet, hiding from a man who would yell and scream at my mother. I was the pathetic little runt who cried alone in the closet.

I didn't need help when I was diagnosed with crippling depression and anxiety. Didn't need help with the first pill or the second.

I didn't need help when my parents got divorced and I began my life as a toy, a possession.

I didn't need help when my own father beat the life out of me just for his own entertainment. I kept my mouth shut. I didn't say a word. Nothing to say. I dealt with it by myself.

I didn't need help after my first girlfriend cheated on me with one of my closest friends. I was too young to have a relationship anyway.

I didn't need help after one of my friends called me. I remember every word. It's burned into the brain of mine they call "insane". There was no one else to call. No one else who could show her. No one else who could love her. No one else who could stop her from killing herself. I heard her take her last breath.

I didn't need help when the car came flying out of nowhere. It hit the passenger door. I still lived. I didn't need help.

I didn't need help when I was in a coma. Not the first or the second time.

I didn't need help after the first, second, or third suicide attempt.

I didn't need help when my grandmother died of a heart attack and my grandfather was left on his own for the first time in 40 years.

I didn't need help when I was drunk for the first time at 14 years old.

I didn't need help when I first started hallucinating. Not when my friends stopped trusting me to help them. I became the psycho schizo.

I didn't need help when he shot my dog in the leg. No not when he took me from my own home and held a gun up to my head for 3 hours. Not when he threatened to shoot my mother and step-father in front of my eyes.

I didn't need help when I watched them cuff up Christopher Walker and sentence him to years in prison.

I didn't need help when I moved away from home...over 3500 miles away. None of my friends missed me. I was easily forgotten.

I didn't need help when my heart failed for the first time and it has not been the last.

I didn't need help when I broke up with the someone I thought I loved the most. I lost the worst and best thing that ever happened to me in one night...and it wasn't even a big deal to them.

I didn't need help when they thought I was asleep. They told me I won't make it until my next birthday, if that.

But...if I don't get help...I will be a
Depressed
Anxious
Ex-boyfriend
Insane
Psychotic
Schizophrenic
Dramatic
And dead kid

And it's all my fault. Everything that has happened to me happened for one reason and one reason only:

I need help. I need a lot of help. And I've never said that out loud in my life...but there's no one around. My croaking voice bounces of the walls of this hospital room but nobody hears.