A Cry For Help.

July 16th, 2009 - Capital Ex Parade - Edmonton Alberta Canada.

I (12yr old Jenn) tell my mother that I think that I have a problem with anxiety. She tells me 'It's just stress because of your brother'. My long-lost half-brother has been staying with us for a month and he leaves this Sunday. Now - true - Jordan (my brother) has been PART of the reason for my feelings of not being good enough, but I've had issues WAY before he even contacted us. I pretty sure that a teacher at school said to us 'no matter what, when someone talks about suicide, depression, self-harm, or anything like that, it should be taken 100% seriously.' So shouldn't my mother have atleast talked to me???
Well, I think so.
But of course, she's too wrapped up in Jordan; asking him about what's been going on with him. She used to talk to me almost every day. And now? Now I'm a shadow in the night... Invisible. Shouldn't she care? Shouldn't SOMEONE care? I take pills, I cry, I fake smiles and laughs, I listen to music that CLEARLY states how I feel. And now, I've asked for help. And still, they don't believe me. What does it take? What does it take for someone to realise that I need help. I need SOMETHING. I need someone to talk to me and tell me that everything's okay and that they love me...
Will it finally hit them when they find me dead; hanging in my closet. Or maybe they'll hear a gun shot, and find me on my bedroom floor; blood dripping from my head. Maybe they'll call me for dinner, and - finding no reply - discover me in the bathroom having overdosed on tylenol. Maybe then.. they'll finally see that I was serious. That I meant every word I said that Thursday at the parade. That I really wasn't worth it, and I really couldn't do it.


Maybe...