It's like I forgot how to live somehow, this Christmas. Like I was in the middle of a movie happening all around and no one could see me. I surrounded myself (or tried to) with happy things from my childhood or a childhood that I wish I had. I barely remember my grandfather and I long for him to save me. He died when I was 8 years old. I wish I could remember any good time with Jeff. But there's nothing-- not a thing. It's quiet funny how all I have is things I surround myself with but it doesn't seem to be enough. I remember my favorite carton Tom and Jerry, favorite dinner food ice cream (only at grandma's house), the planet I made up when I was little, colored and named it, all of those silly children questions why is the sky blue? why is the grass green?, favorite breskfest food grandma's pancakes, the knife and knife sharpener my grandfather used--life was so simple then. Now it's complex equations with no secure outcome. The only memory of Jeff was when I was about 2 or 3 years old I was taking a bath and I asked mom, "where's daddy?" Later I learned that he was out drinking so he could in a few months or so come home and shove a loaded gun to my mother's head with me standing right there. In the fear of my life and her own my mom left the bastard when we all moved to Tennesee and she left to come back home and told him she wanted to stay with her family. I don't know what factor caused my depression but I'd like to know. I know all of my self-destructive moments and how angst pre-teen I might have seemed. And I still understand none of it. But I know that in all of those times I cut I was so broken with despair I thought I could live own unless I caused some real pain I could control. I tried to control my weight in 7th and 8th grade by not eating at all. I got down to 90 lbs. It scared me so much that I might have died. Of course I was young then and didn't know what I was doing or why. I guess after my first attempt on suicide I was wishing I could live just a little longer. And when I got broken down again and the gun didn't fire and my brain matter wasn't on my parent's bedroom wall I knew that I was meant to live. It changed my life. Of course I tried 3 more times since then. But I haven't tried or even cut myself in 6 months. My scars on my wrist where I learned was easier to hide and on my legs are all gone. The deep one is there to remind me of my hard time and how depressed I really was. I will never understand why I did any of this but I don't anymore although I do still feel depressed sometimes. But I do have depression. A simple chemical imbalance that makes my mind function differently.--