(trigger warning for description of me having violent feelings toward myself and other disabled people)
I couldn't sleep and wandered into Clayton's room and said:
when I was 13 my dog died and I felt really sorry for my parents because now they only had me. Whenever I thought about the fact that I was an only child I was filled with this guilt I tried to avoid thinking about, that they didn't have another kid to take their minds off me.
Last spring I was almost done with college. My parents had told me that I would be able to finish college in four years if I worked hard enough. All my friends who had disabilities like mine were either having a lot of trouble in school or had already had to leave and I was determined not to be like them. I kind of hated them. I got in a big fight on the Internet because I made an angry blog post about how I wanted to kill people who took medical leaves because I would kill myself rather than do that.
I would get really angry and scared about potentially not doing schoolwork and not being able to graduate. I would get suicidal. Sometimes just trying to come down from being really suicidal made it hard to do work but I couldn't tell my professors why my work wasn't good or on time. It made me feel upset to wonder what they thought of me but if I told anyone I was suicidal I could be removed from school and I wouldn't be able to finish in four years.
My parents do a lot for me and I'm very close to them. I consider them great people but a part of me is disappeared from them.