I hate my town and my family. I hate how the people here think that nothing is wrong in the world. Look around you! There are people starving and people with unemployed parents. I hate my family because everyone is caught up in their own problems that we never stop and look around to see how the others are actually feeling. No one can talk to each other. My father is a complete a****** and I’m glad I never have to see him again. It’s been a year now and I still get paranoid when I her a diesel engine. None of this makes sense and I don’t care. I had my mother hit me as a kid and I can’t stand the sight of her. She makes me sick. When I finally got help for my depression she yelled at me the whole way to the psychologist. She told me that she is going to off herself when we all move out and s*** like that. She told me that I didn’t know what it was like to be on the edge. The funny thing is that if she for a second look outside of herself she would have seen that I had plans, I had cut myself. I went to bed every night thinking of ways to go, I broke a glass bottle in my room and left it there for months and everyday I would go over and sit down and press the sharpest edge to my wrist and wait for my hand to do the deed. I never did. I am thankful for that because I am better now, I don’t want to die. I am better than my mother, I am going to get away from this shithole and make a life for myself and never look back because there is nothing her for me. I know I have had it easy compared to others and that is what stopped me for a long time, because I knew that someone out there, lots of people, had it so much worse than me.