My Fucking Mess Of A Life

Reality.

It happened again. I was crying for no reason. I was sat on my roof right outside my window, tears falling down my face at an alarming rate, silent sobs wracking my body, and I had no reason for this whatsoever. I had to be silent. The back of my house was a community driveway and it had a very loud echo. I didn't need someone hearing or seeing me and telling my parents. I sat hugging my knees to my chest, waiting for the onslaught of tears to end. They didn't. It had been almost ten minutes and they showed no sign of slowing. It was getting harder to keep quiet. My nose was stuffed but I couldn't sniff or that would make noise. I couldn't clear my throat and cough. I couldn't go to my mom. She and my dad had gone upstate for the long weekend and wouldn't be back until Tuesday morning. The only other person home was my sister. I didn't want to bother her but I couldn't stop crying. I climbed back into my room through my window and grabbed some tissues to blow my nose. After I was sure I could kind of breathe through my nose, I headed across the hall to my sisters room. I knocked very lightly in case she was asleep but I knew she wasn't. She said come in and I pushed the door open. For the first few seconds she didn't say anything. She asked what was wrong. I said I was sorry but I didn't know what else to do. I said I just couldn't stop crying and I didn't know why. She didn't say anything. I started regretting going to her. This wasn't her problem. She was clearly tired. I said sorry and turned to leave but she stopped me. She told me come sit on the floor by her bed. I shut the door and sat against the bed hugging my knees. She placed her hand on my shoulder and told me to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I tried but I couldn't do it. She said she was sorry. I told her she shouldn't be apologizing. It wasn't her fault and if anything I should be the one apologizing. After about ten more minutes of crying I finally managed to calm down. I sat there just staring at the floor for about five minutes. Finally I spoke up. My voice came out raspy and dry. I said I was sorry. This wasn't her problem. She shouldn't have to deal with this. She told me to stop. I did. There was no point in arguing with her. I still felt like I had just bothered her. I stood up and went back to my room, but she asked for a hug. I was surprised but complied. I voiced my surprise because she doesn't usually like physical contact especially hugs. She told me not to say what she did and didn't like. As I walked out I said I was sorry. She thought I meant for the physical contact comment so she just said it's okay. I meant for bothering her. I didn't say that though. I just walked out. I sat on my bed reading for a bit. I wasn't really interested in it though. I wasn't really interested in anything. I ran through a list in my head of things I normally love to do and that make me happy, trying to see if anyone them stuck out to me. Reading, watching, drawing, writing, eating, playing a computer game, listening to music, going to the swings, even though it was 10:30 at night, I didn't care as long as it actually interested me, coloring, talking with friends, anything. I even thought about cleaning. Nothing. I has no emotional reaction to any of these, positive or negative. I was just numb to all of them. I hated that. It was one of the worst parts of this. Even after I calmed down, I couldn't even do the things that normally made me happy, that I would normally go to when I wanted to feel better. The only thing that kinda interested me was not something I should have wanted to do. I wanted to read sad things. I wanted to go find stories about depression and suicide. I knew I shouldn't have wanted to do that. It wasn't healthy. It wouldn't help. It might just make things worse. I just continued reading what I was currently reading, but it barely interested me. I wasn't not focusing. I was. If someone were to ask me about what I read, I could tell them. It just didn't stimulate me in any way. At one point I put on a pair of pajama pants and a big gray sweater. It was already spring so it was quite hot but I didn't care. I just needed comfort in any way possible. I went downstairs at some point to sit on the couch instead of my bed. I sat there for awhile. I went up at around 1 am buy didn't sleep until 3. It's hard to sleep when your thoughts are attacking you. I kept thinking about how much I hated this. There are many different ways I break down or my depression shows itself. Panic attacks, bad thoughts, crying because of those bad thoughts, but the worst was when I cried for no reason. All the other things I can sometimes trick myself into thinking are caused by just being a teenager. Just blaming it on hormones. I can pretend if only for a little while that I don't have depression. I'm just growing up and that it's normal. When I cry for no reason, I can't trick myself. When I don't have any bad thoughts or anxiety or anything, I just start crying out of the blue. It makes it so much more real. It forces me to realize that I'm actually depressed and it's not just hormones. I'm a freak and a crybaby and there is something wrong with me. For hours after I walk around as if I'll never be happy again. I'm tired and drained of all energy. Breathing is so hard. It takes too much energy. To anyone listening, it just sounds like I'm sighing a lot. No, I just mustered enough energy to breathe and I'm taking in as much air as I can until I can do it again. I fell asleep with all these thoughts in my head. It was an uneasy sleep. But at least I wasn't thinking anymore. I could escape from reality if only for a few hours. I'm my sleep, I'm not like this. I'm fine. I'm normal. But eventually, I have to wake up and face reality.

5/28/17

A/n You know, most wattpad authors would be proud of updating their stories a day after the last update. I can't really say that I am. This isn't exactly the type of story where you hope for updates often. Oh well. As explained before, date of events taking place does not match up with date it was written or published. If you don't understand why the date of writing doesn't always match up is because if I just had a shit day or a really bad panic attack, or as it states in the chapter above, a lack of interest in doing literally anything, I don't write. I start a new note with the date before I forget it and I write one sentence to remind myself what happened that day. (sometimes I have three horrible days in a row and I won't start writing until like a week later but I might not remember which horrible instance took place on which day since they were so close together.)
So yeah. Also to the people who do read this story and the authors notes, could you please vote or comment? I don't actually care about votes or things like that, I just want to know who's reading this. If you don't know what to comment then just comment something random like shoelaces or some shit. That may seem weird that I want to know who it is but I'm weird. You don't have to if you don't want to. OK. Bye.