I'm sorry

My dad used to tell stories about when he was little. It was funny because he remembered playing football and climbing trees and beating up his brothers and stuff, and when he grew up the most adventurous thing he did was buy the New York Times instead of a local paper. We'd always joke that he didn't get grow up and get stronger, he grew up and got weaker, and then my mom would say that he must not've eaten his spinach and shit like that. I'm writing it here so I'll remember it. I'm writing it here so whoever finds this blog will remember it when I'm not here.
I looked in the kitchen cabinets for the advil, it was nerve-wracking as fuck and I almost had a heart attack several times, which would've solved a lot of problems. There was no advil anywhere. I took a knife from the drawer, but I can't make myself use it. What if it didn't work and I sat here with stabs wounds for days before I died? Maybe I could drown myself in the bathtub? I don't know how that would work, I feel like I wouldn't be able to stay under long enough to pass out, that I'd pull my head up in spite of it all. And when I came back, the plastic bags were sitting on the bed, with a note and a little paperback book attached.
"Page 59, line 28. Don't you want to face what you were born for?"
I tossed the bag out the window again, but I still can't stop shaking. Someone was in my room and I don't know who. I took off the comforter where the bags were sitting, but I still don't want to sit where they were. How did they even get into my room, I've locked the doors and everything just fuck it I don't know what to do. Will they come in when I'm here? Are they going to kill me? Could I convince them to do it quickly? I want to go into the closet but all I can remember is my mother's eyes watching me through the door.
My dad talked about his siblings, the stuff they did when they were little. I've never met any of my aunts or uncles. I wonder if they didn't talk to him or he didn't talk to them. I keep wishing I had their phone numbers and that I could get them to come and take me out of this, but I know if I did have them I wouldn't call. I don't want them to die too, or get taken by her.
Page 59, line 28 is, "'consider the secret of my name!'" The book's called Song at the Scaffold and it looks creepy as fuck. The drawing on the front has this crazy-looking nun with a bunch of other nuns lined up at the guillotine.
I don't know what to do.  "Consider the secret of my name," like fuck I will. Like fuck I was born for this, or maybe I was. Maybe I was, maybe my dad was born to be killed and my mom was born to be taken over by a monster.
JESUS FUCK I'M GETTING A BRAIN MELTDOWN AGAIN. I can tell by which part of my head hurts, they fluctuate from the front to the back to the sides as different thoughts run through my head, and I can't escape my birthright I can't escape my place
There is nowhere to run. There is nowhere to hide. My name was written down before I took my first breath, my master trained me since before I took my first step
Guys, please, has anyone ever experienced this before? I have all these thoughts they hurt and they won't stop even if I write them down and try to get them out. Sometimes when I was little I would get horrible headaches and they wouldn't stop until I wrote down my thoughts. I had notebooks full but my mom threw them out and I don't remember what the thoughts were.
It hurts so much and it's not stopping. I want to sleep so bad, I just want to sleep and forget and maybe I won't wake up.