Ummm hi, I guess. My name? I’ll call myself Alice Jones here. Why? My love of Coraline and Alice in Wonderland is that great.

I’m what people could call a “typical” teen. A girl with dreams bigger than herself, diagnosed with depression during my last semester of high school the moment when I dared to ask for help. It’s curious, because before this...before being medicated by a psychiatrist, I managed to fool three different psychologists into thinking I was ok.

Truth is, I’m not.

Now, if you expect a happy book or something of that sort, you will be disappointed. These are my experiences, nobody is particularly guilty of my anger, sadness, and disappointment.

Nobody is responsible for my death wish.

I’m responsible for this. In this first log, letter or whatever you guys wanna call it, I’ll try to kinda explain a bit about me.

I love arts, be it, singing, drawing, writing, acting...those are my favorite.

I adore the creepy-cute aesthetic, something like Melanie Martinez type of thing. Perhaps stop-motion movies as well (that’s my main reason for studying a diploma course for this).

People, in general, make me anxious. Usually when I don’t know them or there are too many. So you may notice my social relationships suck in general. My love life is terrible as well. I’m addicted to loving people, but I am loyal to the person I’m with. Though this has resulted in me getting my heart broken more times than I would like. The worst part is when they come back because for them I’m a good friend.

I never say no...I still care for them, wishing their happiness.

Yet, I’ve gotten to the point where I have many exes as my “friends”, almost nobody to talk to unless I start conversations myself. I can wait more than days to get answers. Sometimes I wonder who I can depend on.

That brings me to this another part. People always seem to care about me until it’s late. Like, my parents, I may adore them...but after suffering mental abuse by an acquaintance (years of it) they had to notice many years later something was wrong. Not even when I had asked my dear mother to kill me when I was twelve did she dare to give me the help and attention I needed.

I ended fearful of loud noises, not socially interactive at all, silent, scaredy-cat, self-loathing mess of a girl. So, when the abuser left...things got “better” between my divorced parents and me. My friends used to be my bullies as well...causing me to arrive in high school with not much trust.

Only on my then boyfriend. I firmly seemed to believe that romantic love was the only one I could really trust. Many heartbreaks later, two boyfriends, a fling, a girlfriend later...In finding out it is not so.

Perhaps it’s stupid. But living under medication, never good enough for anyone to really love me without reverting to friendship, a girl with average grades compared to her genius parents...living knowing I worry people too much, feeling I don’t deserve them to worry.

I live because that makes them happy.

But I still wish to end my life.

Nobody is the problem.

Just me.