And I'm not expecting people to respond, it's nice to think someone will read this but I'm just going to write for the sake of it. I don't get listened to a lot, from what I've been told, and there's a weird conflict in me between whether I deserve that or not.
I don't see any sort of introductory forum, this is my first post, so please forgive my naivety if I do something stupid..
I'm a 17 year old girl and I live in the southernmost area of Canada...
During the winter I was in some kind of deep depression for months. I usually cut myself a few times a week, I started drinking rather heavily and mixing it with painkillers and some such, I would go through these nights that I was in love with where I would just tear myself to pieces with booze or percocets and razors and whatever the fuck else, I hardly even remembered them the next morning and I have no idea how I found the time, now, to fit that into my weekly routine. I don't even know if it was every week, I know it was often. The slightest thing could send me spiralling off, for instance when I kept spilling customers drinks at work and started crying and had to go force calm down on myself to minimize all the dramatic flourish I'd left in my wake. I still have scars on my arm, just numerous and wide enough to make every conversation in short sleeves with someone who didn't know run with an undercurrent of emotional distancing. I'm still angry about the lack of care i got from my dad, he eventually started telling me to cut the act and stop feeling sorry for myself, when I told him I thought I should go to a hospital he said there were kids in hospital with cancer who had real problems. But I don't even know when I'm going to die. I pushed people away so that my inevitable suicide would be a lot smoother.
But I guess I didn't go through with it, I was put on Prozac, I got a real zip from the pills and started getting my life together to some degree, it became a lot easier in the spring but I started eating a lot less and lost about 20 lbs. It showed a lot in my arms, my dad thought I was 106 lbs. (I wish.) Then I started smoking a lot of weed and I gained 10 lbs during the month that I had said I would lose my last 10 lbs before I could be 100 lbs. I hated it, I thought I would have a heart attack some nights because there was so much food in me and my heart was beating twice as fast and I couldn't lie down properly and a couple times I had to make myself puke just to feel normal again.
University started a month ago and even at the end of August I could feel something welling up inside of me, another big crash. One night it occurred to me that this was the year I was going to die, that I would finally be pushed over the edge. (I've only been thinking about it since I was 9 or so, it's about time..) I booked an appointment with the student disabilities center or whatever it's called to let them know in advance but the soonest appointment I could get was for tomorrow (Oct 1) which was weeks away at the time.
I sortof snapped, i guess, yesterday, or whatever day it was. Been smoking weed, staying up late, binge eating, waking up tired, starving, purging, crying over a bowl of spaghetti, spending hours on the finest details of drawings and paintings, putting assignments off and getting really worked up about due dates and screaming and swinging from one extreme to the other and all these things steadily building up. I woke up at 11:45 for a class that started at 12 half way across the city, an hour by public transit, and my dad wasn't angry which confused me because he's always angry when I've fucked something up, I started crying and said I needed to talk to my shrink again (this was about the third time I'd told him so this month) and he drove me to school and called the doctor on the way. All day I was forgetting everything and I would do things without any reason, standing up and sitting down and the world was at a weird angle and I couldn't focus. I felt better at the end of the day when my dad and I went and had some tea.
Then today I just got confused, my dad was at my door telling me to get up and I had no idea why , he was fuming mad at me, I was in the car 20 minutes before class was to start and he was calling everyone in traffic an asshole and swerving everywhere and not speaking and I didn't speak. He dropped me off and I said 'I'm sorry,' he said 'You should be.' I think of the tip of a solder gun I used a few days before and how it broke from my constantly turning it on and off and the time I slammed it against a table in anger, trying to bend it back into shape the contacts snapped, the metal crystalline from wear.
I felt like dying all day. I thought I should just kill myself tonight so I wouldn't have to deal with all of this again. all the loopholes and funny tricks and the 'take vitamin D' and Get Well Soon So I'm Comfortable, it's psychosomatic and you've just stop trying. I started repeating to myself that I shouldn't kill myself right there or tonight because 'it just wouldn't be a good idea' but the entire day I was thinking about 
Tomorrow I have the shrink and later the appointment with the disabilities center. I never considered it a disability until the winter when I was still in highschool and all my teachers had to back off and give me extra time to finish assignments. I felt like shit about that too because I was getting so much sympathy when, according to my dad, I was making it all up and I was better off without a psychiatrist 'because some people get addicted to therapy' and do on and so forth, basically nothing I do or feel is valid.
I don't even know if I want to go tomorrow. I want the school to know so that when I fall apart they know it's not that I don't care. The inevitability is back. I don't know if I want to tell my shrink about my eating habits because I know that now I've run out of weed I'll go back to eating only a little bit and I'll loose all the weight, it would just be preemptive to do something about it now when my thighs touch, but I wish someone could hear me. I want to be understood but I don't know if I want to stop, if I'd rather just let everything fall apart and kill myself so I don't have to deal with it all anymore.
I feel so alone in all of this. No-one understands any of it, the thousand mile stare and the shaky stuff and all the things that go in and out of me I'm not joking. I've been told I don't need to go to a hospital many times. I don't want to seem like I'm begging for attention but there's so much I want to say that never gets said, there's layers and layers of dirt that haven't even been acknowledged and it's hurting more with every day, I feel like I need one big wipeout because nothing is working and no-one can hear what's inside my head.
I dunno. The wine isn't having any effect on me, I might sleep or take some pills, fuck do I know. I'm so tired of fighting.