My Life

I'm sick of everyone talking about me. Sometimes they'll even do it in front of me, but most times behind my back. My mother talks about me even if I'm sat right next to her let alone in another room. Why can't people just stop judging!?

It is mentally and physically killing me to live here. Nothing I do or say will change anything but make things worse. I'm surprised I'm still alive, really. Everyday is another blow at me, I'm getting weaker and weaker. I don't want to be here anymore. I'm screaming help me but nobody will listen, I don't know what to do. Why does everyday seem longer than the last, although I have survived a big wave, an even bigger one is coming to knock me down, to kill me again and again and again. They always think there the victims in this, who is the one getting another shelf of everyone else's problems on them everyday. You say that I never ask you how your day went? That's because you always tell me how it went. You say I never give you a hug? Because I don't even want to look at you after the things you've said - even saying hello is a push. You say I never ask you how you are? You always tell me, and you never ask me how I am, I clearly am sad (it...

It's odly strange how this one airy fairy fairy tale really links to me. It's a similar problem apart from mine doesn't have a solution but instead the princess has to just keep locked away in this tower. And I don't have a prince that comes to my rescue, in fact I don't have a Prince at all. And I'm not as beautiful as Rapunzel, I don't have long beautiful blonde hair. Instead I'm stuck in this tower, with no prince, with no beauty and just my parents constantly at me for what a perfect person should be, act and look like. I want to be free. Is death the only way out?

I'm sick of acting happy when I'm not. When I lost my voice, it made me notice something. I couldn't laugh so I had to smile. It kind of felt better, a lot better. I guess being able to have a reason not to talk to anyone was pretty good. But at times I wish I could speak. Like when Luke spoke to me. His lips looked moist. Mine felt dry. His hands looked cold. Mine felt warm. He looked calm. I was panicking inside. And I needed a break. So I wrote that I needed a toilet and showed the teacher. In the toilet people must be wondering what the hell am I doing in there and why I take so long. It's because I am trying to calm myself down. And it isn't being hyper or high, it's having an anxiety attack or 'panick attack' but I prefer to call it anxiety attack because it's caused by my anxiety. Stepping aside from that, if you're wondering what 'a new taste' means, it's not some hidden message. It's actually pretty simple, it's a new...

R.I.P. You beautiful human . Everything in this letter, is true. And I love you. Support Leelah by painting your finger pink on January 6th. LEELAH'S SUICIDE LETTER If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue. Please don't be sad, it's for the better. The life I would've lived isn't worth living in… because I'm transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but this note is probably going to be lengthy enough as it is. To put it simply, I feel like a girl trapped in a boy's body, and I've felt that way ever since I was 4. I never knew there was a word for that feeling, nor was it possible for a boy to become a girl, so I never told anyone and I just continued to do traditionally 'boyish' things to try to fit in. When I was 14, I learned what transgender meant and cried of happiness. After 10 years of confusion I finally understood who I was...

New Year and I already think this year is trying to kill me. New Year's Eve I woke up with a terrible throat, and noticed I was mute. I guess mute was a good thing, so then I had a reason not to talk. But soon later I realised my limbs were weak and I struggled to walk without getting tired and having to rest them. My chest hurt, and it wasn't the broken heart. My head hurt, and it wasn't the roaming bad thoughts. My nose hurt, and it wasn't the lack of the smell of him. My lips heart, and it wasn't the lack of his touching mine. It wasn't me. It was God. He was showing me this is a new year for a new start. When I say new, there wasn't going to be some drastic change in my hair, or my bag or my face. There was going to be a change in everything. The way I think about people, the way I talk to them, the way I act, the way I am with my friends. I was going to change, be it good, be it bad. And it would help me, not anyone else but me. I was going to change me...