seek solace in paracetamol

A while ago my mum said something to me that almost made everything I find unexplainable about myself drop into place and become reasonable and rational for the first time. She said that sometimes she worries that my character is such as a result of the behaviour of my sister when we were children.

She said that because my sister demanded so much attention, she thinks this caused me to be as reserved as I am. My mum spent so much time running after my sister when she was a toddler that she says I stopped crying quite early on. She said that at the time it was a Godsend having this silent baby, but now she looks back and feels tremendous guilt and regret.

She told me how she remembers watching me grow up and noticing that I'd always keep things to myself. I always used to hide if I was upset and wait until I was alone before I'd start to cry. And by the time it had got to that point there would be so many things attributing to my sadness that it would all just come out in one huge fit. I remember my eyes would burn with red hot tears; the muscles in my neck would tense trying to dampen the sobs. My hand would be holding my head; fingers entwined with my hair. I'd sit there for hours sometimes, keeping as quite as possible.

I still do it now - I did it just over an hour ago.

I remember at the end of this conversation I had with my mum, she told me never to simply "put up and shut up". And although neither of us had mentioned it we both knew exactly what she meant.

I've always found it so difficult to admit there's a problem with anything to anyone. It just keeps pushing me closer and closer to the edge until I really feel as though I'm actually going to lose it and live in a hospital for the next few years. I'm genuinely scared that soon I'll be laying down on a hospital bed talking about medication with a nurse.

Last week I wanted to kill myself with paracetamols again. The 'reassuring' thing is, I know I could do it. Afterall I actually did it. And not only did I do it, but afterwards I still felt so determined to go through with it that I went to sleep without telling anyone what I'd done. I thought I was closing my eyes forever. All it was was the best night's sleep I ever had.

When I come home on a sunday night (now to be saturday nights) after a 'break' at your house I climb the hundreds of stairs to my bedroom and I sit on my bed and I start to cry. Maybe it's for my sick mother, or my lonely sister in her house with no one to share it with. Perhaps it's for Anthony and all the love he wastes on me. Or for my Clueless Boyfriend. Or myabe it's for the realistion that I've done this for the past three years of my life.

I hate being here in this house. I just want to escape its darkness and coldness and sickness and loneliness. I just want someone to take care of me.

Why doesn't anyone notice that I'm cooking and cleaning and washing and supermarket shopping. I'm washing my mum's disappearing hair and sitting next to her during treatments. I'm only seventeen. Doesn't anyone understand that?

I just want to fall asleep with my mum's arms around me. Telling me everything's OK and she can look after me now. But I can't even give her a hug. I don't know what's worse - feeling a huge space where there used to be my mother's breast or a cold and heavy gel implant.

Sometimes it's like I think it's another person. I just wish my real mum would come back.

I'm sorry for being so miserable. I wish you'd make it better but you won't.