Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Why is life this way?
I have to wonder, why things are going this way. I know in my mind itās because of āthatā. But I wish it wasnāt because of that. I just want it to be sophomore year again. Or the first part of Junior year. Life isnāt so easy anymore. My friends donāt talk to me. I donāt talk to my friends because my brain is telling me that they donāt care, they donāt need you to throw your problems at them. Sigh. Iāve been ignoring them too. Havenāt been saying anything in the group chats unless itās totally something I have to respond to. I know most of my friends probably feel the same way I do. And after mace and lily came out and explained their feelings I sent a long chat to the group. I said things that were realistic, and I mourned the loss of the friend group. I then said I was hoping we could all vent and talk it out. I got the bare minimum of a response. Disappointing, really.
Why would I expect any different? Whatever. Weāll just live out separate lives. I want to be there for them, as I have been. But Iām not in the right place mentally to do that. And no one cares. Except for maybe my mum but thatās a whole other issue.
My thoughts are filled with, āāJust die.āā And āāitās all your fault.āā Iāve got to be more realistic. All Iāve got in this world is myself. Some people donāt even have that. Time to grow up. Most adults donāt even have close friends, like my mom. They live like that, so I should learn to also.
Thereās more I want to say, but the things Iāve already said are petty enough. No reason to make it any worse. Chances are, someone will find this and itāll hurt their feelings. Like always.
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Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
I hate this place. I hate these people. I hate my life. Sometimes, it feels like I donāt belong here. Like I belong somewhere else. Like maybe Iām living in the wrong universe. Sometimes, everything feels so fake, so plastic. Like everyone is only here to hurt me, to spite me, to destroy me. Itās because this is all wrong. Everything is wrong. I know this because I could kill myself and no one would bat an eye. They would say, āOh Jonna? Sheās gone now, huh? Well, that's too badā¦Anyway, letās talk about something actually interesting.ā Then they would go back to their lives, never actually caring. I wonder... Why do they pretend to care? If they all donāt care, then why donāt they say something? Free me of my misery. I know Red Nose only cares about my homework, so she can copy off of me. Thatās almost the only time she will talk to me because she actually wants to. Just so she can copy off my homework. Gosh, why do I let her? Iām so weak, I mean, just read what Iām writing. Iām only doing this for attention, right? Iām so annoying. Iām faking everything just to get someone to love me. My mom loves me, right? Vater has to love me too. Just look at everything he does for me. I need to stop this. But really, I just want to see God. I want him to embrace me, to free me of all this pain.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
I am surprised I am not broken yet. Besides everything that happens to me, I am still able to function. Not well, I admit. But it is still something. People would be shocked at the thoughts I sometimes have, and they would wonder how I seem so okay. My head hurts. My heart burns. I just want this all to be over. I just want to be in a place of God, in Heaven. This life doesnāt seem to fit me at all. I know it may seem like I am just going through a phase, but this is my life. It isnāt made smaller just because I am younger. I have to admit, sometimes I enjoy life. I enjoy my shows. I enjoy reading. But everything else just hurts.
People think you need human interaction to survive. And for most, that is true. But yet here I am, crying that it is not the case. This human interaction is destroying me, destroying my will to live. No one will listen, all because they think that it is unhealthy. They donāt realize how truly horrible everyone makes me feel. What about family? Your family canāt possibly hurt you! How very wrong. I was hesitant to admit it before, scared of the repercussions, but my family, my mom especially, have destroyed me. My mother yells at me for everything, never apologizes, and is always negative. I am sick of it. Iād rather try living with my dad for a while. I do not know how that would truly go. Would my dad be truly unable to care for me? Maybe if that is true, I would learn how to care for myself, and finally, I wouldnāt have to suffer through human interaction.Ā
Anyway, I guess reading back it seems I have rapidly spiraled into a pit of despair and depression. It seems I have only gotten worse, even if I donāt exactly show it.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Welcome to the world of my mind. A place filled with horrors. But I am here to talk, as I talk best like this. I somehow can not form the words in my mind into speech. It is truly horrible. Anyway, I have been thinking. I blame Red Nose for all the bad things in my mind, and I see how it is true. But I know that I should only forget and forgive, but when there are so many things to forgive, it gets hard. I apparently have friends, but whenever I try to āplayā with them, I only get yelled at or glared at. It is breaking me. Why do they only love Red Nose? What is her appeal? They all agree that deep down she is a horrible person but then why do they continue to be angry at me and not at her? Why do they agree but then forget their words?Ā
Let me describe what happened today. We were all in our new corner, by the doors by the bathroom. Blue had gone under the bleachers. I had wanted to make fun, so I went by him. I pulled back the curtain, and he screamed. He came out, holding his head and being very dramatic. I did not understand. I had done nothing. I had merely pulled the curtain back. He glared at me, and quietly scolded me. I did not know what I had done but I was sorry. I tried to comfort him. I said sorry. But then Blonde-Black grabbed his shoe from his foot and threw it. She was playing, and so I thought Blue was fine. He was laughing. I ran and grabbed his shoe, happy to finally play with them. I had grabbed his shoe, pulling it from his reach exactly as everyone else had done.
āGive me my shoe, I need to go to the bathroom!ā He was holding his head dramatically again. I was confused. I paused, not sure what to do, yet still holding the shoe from his reach.Ā
āGive him the shoe!ā Blonde-Black scowled at me. I gave him his shoe, feeling hurt. This happens every time I try to play. I do not want to play with them anymore. I want to be done, I donāt want to feel this pain anymore. I had separated myself from my āfriendsā. I did not want to be by such people who made me feel this pain. It all seemed so simple, what had happened. But yet, here I am, pondering how I can fix this and my life. I am so sick of this.
I am not done though. Even before this, we were all sitting at lunch. Red Nose wasnāt here today, so I was feeling good. She would not have a chance to cut me down or make me feel even more depressed. But yet-
āRed Nose isnāt here. Now we wonāt have anything to do!ā They had said. The pain I felt, how they were missing her. How she was the only one to matter in the eyes of all. I could not help but think, I am here. I am your friend too. I just wish they knew how it all made me feel. They would never listen anyway. Some time had passed, and Red Nose had drifted from my mind. I was playing then. Someone had wiped their dirty hands on me or something of the sort so I laughed and pretended to wipe it on Blonde-Black. She could only give me a disgusted, annoyed look. I felt like dying. Red Nose could do that and she would only laugh and play back.
It may sound like I am jealous of her. But I donāt think this feeling is jealousy. I do not wish to be Red Nose. She is ugly inside and out. (Slight exaggeration) But I feel hurt by her. She pains me. It is like she is a slate that is painted brightly but underneath there is secretly only darkness that everyone is attracted to. I keep telling everyone, to stay away from the beautiful slate! It is only a layer over the darkness. I have seen the darkness. It scares me. I try my hardest to chip away at the darkness, but my tools seem to only bounce off. I am done trying.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
I did not make it. And now anyone who sees that sheet of paper will know it too. They will all know that Jonna is truly a failure at her best. [insert town name here] has definitely brought out the worst in me. I have always known that the only special thing about me was my mind, and even now, I donāt have thatā¦ I am nothing without my knowledge. But I can only blame myself, I haven't finished a book of my own will in many years. I spend all of my time watching anime, reading manga, and reading fan-fiction. I have been rotting my mind. I wanted to be satisfied and have fun, but I know that it is only ruining me. But I canāt stop. Where will I find excitement if I stop? I have no close friends to hang with, and even so, I donāt want to be by them all of the time. I donāt get enjoyment from sportsā¦ Well, actually, I like sports. I just donāt like feeling completely useless. Iām horrible at every sport. And I donāt like the looks I get when I run. So I avoid it. I get enjoyment from drawing, but honestly, where will that get me in life? I donāt have connectionsā¦ I have nowhere to go and hone my skills into money.Ā
You know, Iāve always wanted to be rich. I wanted to live in a big house with beautiful cars and amazing scenery. I thought I had the stuff to get me to that pointā¦. I thought my brain was strong enough to take me there. But the only place my brain is taking me to is [insert town name here]. I will be stuck in [insert town name here] foreverā¦ I know it to be so. I just want to find a place where someone can guide me down the correct path as Mr. Balsman did. He showed me what I had inside me. He showed me that I had talent. But now that I am a high-schooler, I am forced to go to [insert town name here]. Forced to be stuck here with Red Nose and Chicken Little. I just want to get away.
Iāve never had the strength to admit Iām depressed. I mean, who would believe me? And what could I possibly be so sad about, right? I am always pretty bubbly: pretty happy. I like to crack jokes and show smiles. Another reason I donāt admit it is because I donāt want attention. People who donāt have depression probably donāt understand. Iād rather deal with it on my own than have to lean onā¦ others. Especially adultsā¦ All they do is look down on me, talk down to me. I donāt want to be hugged and cooed at. I especially don't want other high-schoolersā help. They are all soā¦ immature and annoying. (Especially the seniors.) Soā¦ I just want to be left alone. I hope that if I ignore it for long enough, I will forget about it. It might go away. Sometimes I wonder if Iām actually depressed. Am I actually just being lazy? Am I misdiagnosing it for attention? I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. I am a despicable human being.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
I took my test, oh dear. I think I did moderately. I got some answers right, but I am afraid of how I did. The girls I am competing against are much moreā¦ bright than I am. I am afraid, my chance of getting into Hi-q is very smallā¦. Iāve always known that I am not truly smart. I am onlyā¦ normal. I do not feel good about myself right nowā¦ I will never get a chanceā¦ But truly, I should not be so sad. School will be over soon. I will be living my own life.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Where has my inspiration gone to? I have a paper to write, yet here I am. Why do I keep coming back to this page? I do not see the appeal. But still, I am writing. Am I doing it for him? Oh boy. I am talking about boys again. My life doesn't revolve around these wretched boys. Blue is playing that game. The game I was playing. But how? He couldnāt have possibly seen me playing it! Hmm, I think that maybe it is simply a popular game. Anyway, I am listening to You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch. Now, I want to watch that movie! Will you watch it with me? Silent words fall on deaf ears. Hallelujah. They don't hear what you do not say. That is true, for if you do not speak, no one will. Only you can speak the words you want to say.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
How do I possibly live in this world? This world of corrupt politicians, twisted rulers, and crazed soldiers with a thirst for blood. This world is where I am forced to live. A world with polluted, black skies and melting icebergs. A world where the most I have to worry about is homework and having enough money to buy things. Even though I may not have problems so horrible you would cry just reading about them, my problems affect me and harm me. I do not starve, no. I do not have skin so tight you can see my bones, no. But I have depression, anxiety, and autism. Why am I here? Who will ever read this, except the prying teachers? What do they care for me anyway? They only care about getting us out of here so they can move on. Do they truly care about what they teach? My schoolā¦ It is ruining me. My grades. My status. My health. They have all disappeared. They have allā¦ gone elsewhere. Gone to where I wonder. Hopefully, somewhere I can one day reach them. Do people even like me? Am I annoying to them? Do they roll their eyes when they hear my name? Do they sigh when I walk into the room?
Am I pretty? Am I smart? Am I kind? Am I perfect? Am I perfect to them? Am I too large and ugly? Tell me, is my obsession with books and shows really that unhealthy? Is my inability to make small talk that odd? I am weird to them all. They do not get my references, they never will. I am alone. Is it Wednesday? It is, my dudes. You see, you do not understand. I try and try. I never get anywhere. I am still in this small town. I'm still in this small school. I'm stuck with these unimportant children, all below me yet so much better. Why does he become popular, and not me? Why does he not care? I care, or I used to. My feelings are being stuffed down while he laughs with his cancer-stick lover friends. He used to be like me. Small and unimportant. Now, he has passed me. But he will never be important in the long run. He will never reach the heights I will. He has no aspirations. He is evil, truly, truly. I am despicable. Do you see me and my changes? See how I keep turning my head to new things, I can not focus. This music blares in my ears like my motherās voice. My mother was once beautiful and important like him. Look at her now! They have fallen, I proclaim! I will stand above them all!
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was the awful smell of leaking ozone and dangerous gases lurking in the air. It burned my nose and caused my eyes to water. Soon, it was choking me and causing me to cough up spots of blood. That smell was so horrid it made my skin wrinkle. But it wasn't just a smell, it was the air. The air was poisoning my lungs. The air that had maybe smelled like roses and soft soap was now killing me. The air that once kept everyone alive was now killing everyone off. My eyes were clouded and I could not see. But I was wrong, my eyes were fine. Perfect in fact. It was not my eyes that were fogged, but instead a sort of murky glass around me. I was puzzled. My limbs were stiff and cracked as I reached out to touch the glass. As the pads of my pale fingers touched the glass, a strong shock passed through me. My body quivered with the new energy flowing through my veins. What was that? I suddenly noticed how cold the glass I was touching was. In fact, it was so cold it started to turn my fingers blue. Shaking, I pulled away and tried my best to get away from that glass. I couldnāt move through. My back was already pressed against a freezing cold wall of some sort.Ā
Taking a moment to breathe, I looked around and tried to figure out where I was. I seemed to be in some sort of glass case. Straps were wrapped around my legs, preventing me from moving them. My lips started to quiver as I realized that I was going to freeze to death. A knot started forming in my throat. My eyes started to burn. This was it for me. My life was going to end here. A cold tear ran down my cheek. With a loud sob, I started to bang on the glass. It wiggled slightly but there were no signs of it cracking any time soon. My cry became louder as I banged on the glass harder. My throat started to close up. My breath came out in deep heaves. I remembered then that I had bad asthma. With one last shaky cry, I leaned back and close my eyes, breathing deeply. I had to settle. I tried to wipe the frozen tears from my face but to no avail. My fingers shook from the cold wetness. My heartbeat started to slow, but my breaths still came out in horrible heaves. Suddenly, there was a soft sound. It was squeaky and scratchy at the same time. I looked up, thinking the worst. But there he was. A man covered head to toe in thick-looking clothes. He was frantically wiping away the dirt and muck from the glass. When I was finally able to make him out, I only felt fear. I could feel the desperation in the way that he scraped at the glass and in the way his eyes flickered around, searching for something unknown. Our eyes met. He had very dark brown eyes that Iād never seen before. They weren't brown actually, they were a horrible black. His pupils were expanded to widths that scared me. Who was this man?
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
What are you guys doing? Come back! You canāt leave me! Please, if you leave me, Iāll have no one. No one to protect me. No one to care for me. Iāll die! You donāt want me to die, do you? What? You are still leaving? Butā¦. donāt you care about me? I donāt know how to take care of myself. Iām still just a child. Please. Help meā¦
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
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Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Look at me! Here I stand! See how my hair shines in the sunlight! See how my teeth glimmer as I smile. See how my eyes sparkle with an inner glow that many do not have! I am special, you see! I am so very beautiful. Everyone bows their head when I stride by. They are stunned by my incredible beauty. It is said, that I am the most beautiful person inside and out. I am warm and friendly; Iād like to be your friend! Please, hold my soft hand, and letās skip into the beautiful sunset. But even the sunsetās beauty does not compare to mine, do you not agree?Ā
Let me brush my hair one last time before we leave! Let me paint my face one more time! Let this beauty shine as we walk into heaven! Please, it is okay to look. Everyone must see. Everyone must know about this magnificence. Hear my voice sing like a bird as I talk. It is okay young ones, it is okay to touch. I will not be this young and dazzling forever. I must travel, showering all the world with my glorious being. Bow down, lesser beings! Bow! Praise me!
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
My feelings of admiration simply canāt be explained. Iāve known him for so long. I thought that maybe these feelings are only because I am older now. I truly understand what it is to like someone. Still, these feelings are unexplained. Why me? I donāt deserve this. He could never ever like me back. I am loud and annoying. I am not very attractive (forget what my mother says.) I wonder why she still feels the need to comment on my appearance. My eyes narrow when I laugh, I have an ugly double chin, and my hair falls grossly to my shoulders. Who could ever love me? I pride myself on my intelligence, but truly I am only of average intelligence. Everyone around me just simply has low intelligence.Ā
If I were to exist as an anime character, I would be the fat kid on the sidelines. So, I see myself as the main character, but that is who I really am. Just a side character. I do not stand out in a crowd. Instead, I sink down. So once again, how could he like me? Here we sit, chatting and smiling but I see his eyes wander. He talks about not trusting me. He talks about how ridiculous some girls can be. Am I not a girl? I am sorry. I will never be who you are looking for. You sit next to me but your feet are angled almost as if youād like to run away. Iām so sorry! I wish I was what you are looking for.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
The feelings I feel aren't ones simply explained by words. If you assume so, you must have a low opinion of me! That is alright dear reader, I, too, have a low opinion of you. You are very dim in comparison to me. You see, I stand on a pedestal, many feet from the ground. The pedestal you stand on is veryā¦ how shall I say it? Nonexistent! Yes, that is right. Compared to me, all of you are barely wearing heels. Very low to the cold, dirty ground. How shameful. But how exciting! Knowing how little and small each and every one of you is. How much you truly don't matter in this world. Well, Iāve done enough boasting for one story. In fact, that much boasting could be spread to a whole series and still be too much. I should probably get back to the most important point. The fact that my thoughts couldn't possibly fit into words. That, Iām afraid, is extremely true. My thoughts and emotions couldn't fit in a single word because they are nonexistent. Thatās right. You heard correctly. I do not have thoughts. I do not think.Ā
That might seem confusing to someone like you. Indeed, very confusing. How could a person not have thoughts? Well, once again, it is because I am better than you. In every aspect. In fact, Iām so much more improved I could be another race entirely. I have nobody. I have no thoughts. I have no emotions. That is how human beings will live one day. A day you shall be dead for. Unless of course, you aren't able to die like a normal, boring human of your time. So, do you remember the days humans had to use telephones to communicate with people? Those days were so simple and even duller.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
I had this feeling yesterday like I wasnāt going to come home. It was illogical, but here I am writing in case it is the truth. Iām not sure what could happen to me. Boat sinks? Get shot? Drown? Car accident?
Well, either way, If I die this weekendā¦ There are a few things I want to say. I love Olivia and Logan with all my heart. Olivia - Grandma Cindy and I were considering taking care of you more often, to give you love and attention we worried you werenāt getting at home. Logan - Iām sorry I always put you on the back burner. I donāt (didnāt) mean to make you feel like I love Olivia more. That isnāt the case. You have your dad, and itās very clear your mom loves you. Grandma Cindy and I love you too, so so much. It tears me up inside that I won't get to see you and Olivia grow up happy.
I want to be your goofy, fun-loving aunt that you can come to for anything.Ā
Sorry if anyone reading this isn't family, like the police or something. I donāt knowā¦ Iām not sure if this is applicable but I want all my belongings to go to my niece and nephew. Maybe wait until theyāre 18 or something so they can decide what to do with it.Ā
Iām an artist, writer, and just generally creative. Iāve written and drawn so much, and I donāt want to die with all that thrown away. Donāt toss away my life. My phone password is 412003. My birthday. If you go into my notes, all of my passwords are there. The note is named āACCOUNTSā. Itās face-locked. Either get Jessica to open it otherwise my Apple ID password is **********.
Iāve saved a lot of my art in my photos on my iPad. Lord, I hope it isnāt destroyed.Ā
Goodness, I could go on for days and days. So much I want to say.Ā
Iām 18, and Iāve never really accomplished anything in my life. Iāve struggled with anxiety and depression and Iāve actually written a couple of fare-well notes. (This isnāt my first.) My life, overall, didnāt matter. Iām sure some people will be sad. Iām gone, but my death wonāt stop the world (moon) from spinning.Ā
To everyone that I didnāt mention: youāre all in my thoughts. Even if you think you arenāt, trust me, you ARE. Patsy, Jessica, Mark, Kathy, Nikki, Jackson, Willow, Jackie, Mitchell, Veronica, Jessie, Hannah, Emery, Grayson, Claire, Mace, Desiree, Crystal, Mrs. ******, Mr. *****, Mr. Balsman, Boston, Lily, Gizmo, Gabby, ***, Destyne, Brooke, Patrick, ****, Chris, Ashley, Michael, Tom, Danā¦
Dan will never know. Iām so sorry Dan. Never got to say goodbye. I think about you a lot. We really could have had something. I miss you I miss you I miss you. Lord, Iām sorry. Itās all my fault. I hope youāre happy
Dan ****** from ***** age 18 brown hair blue eyesĀ
Dan, Iām sorry I couldnāt be who you needed. Itās weird how I still havenāt gotten over you. We never met. You said you loved me.Ā
I want to be famous.Ā
But I was never worth anything.Ā
Gotto go. If you canāt identify me: Jonna **** 4/1/03 ********, Wisconsin
My sisters # ***-***-****
I have asthma and scoliosis. Brown hair, hazel eyes. *** lbs. Sexy as hell. Wearing blue necklace. Cartilage piercing in right ear.Ā
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Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
āThereās no point,ā she said. I agree.Ā
I struggle to find value in myself. I want to cry. End it all.
Itās just a stupid game.Ā
Donāt be petty. These are just stupid little thoughts. Ignore them. Go do something fun.Ā
Dog Bone is a collection of short stories, poems, and prose based on my personal experiences with depression, neurodiversity, and whatever else I've dealt with. The majority of these I wrote during my high school years, and do not always accurately reflect my current emotional and physical status. This is meant to educate and maybe even entertain. If you are sensitive to topics such as depression, self-harm, abuse, derealization, anxiety, self-blame, inferiority, and other such things, do not read this post.
Who am I?
I donāt know. (Iām the person who waited to do this basically last minute.) For nearly a week, every night I went to bed, I asked myself that question, āWho am I?ā I would think about what I was going to say. It had to be poetic and beautiful. It had to mean something. I wanted to include little hints and anecdotes. I couldnāt bear the thought of it not being perfect. Thatās probably why I waited so long to do this.Ā
āWho am Iā is such a loaded question. There are so many ways to answer, and I could go on for pages and pages. But I donāt think that is the point. When given this āassignmentā, I was so tempted to ask for an example. In school, any assignment I could do with no trouble as long as I had something to base it on. So it's hard for me to start from basically nothing.Ā
Iām Jonna. Everyone says my name wrong. They also all say my last name wrong. I canāt even name one time a doctor, teacher, or stranger has said my name correctly the first time.Ā
Iām only ever met one other person with my name. It was a distant relative. Did I actually ever meet that person? No one else remembers her.Ā
During freshman year, I had a crush on a senior boy. We were in Quizbowl together. One time, I had to go talk to a teacher after class, and he was in the room. I stepped into the classroom, noticed him, and actually ran out. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding, and my cheeks flushing. āIs this love?āĀ
No. It was never love.Ā
One of my childhood friends made me a bracelet. We went to the same middle school, but she was a year younger than me. So I had to leave her to go to high school. On the last day on the bus, she sat next to me and presented me with a handmade bracelet. It was purple, orange, and green. She tied it around my wrist. 5 years later, it fell off. The color of the threads had faded and the button was scratched. It was in pieces like someone had put it through a blender. I thanked it for accompanying me throughout high school. But, it was time to find a new bracelet to wear.Ā
Will any other bracelet matter as much? Do I even bother trying to make one?Ā
I love the rain. Itās the best thing in the world. Sometimes, I take the rain for granted, and afterward, I always regret it. I especially love thunder and lightning. When the sky quakes, I go to sit on my porch. I never bring an umbrella. When the lightning strikes so close it rattles the ground, I go into the middle of the yard. I let the rain drench me and watch the sky light up in a show you canāt pay for. Sometimes I wonder, āWill today be the day you strike me?āĀ
