You know you've hit rock bottom when you get to this place.

Which is not hell, since I've seen it.

It's bigger;
emptier...

It's scary.

Is it a place?

Or is it a time?

...

I reckon it is a time.

That when you hate yourself so much,

you won't even cry about it.

You won't stand in front of a mirror and frown about it,

Or complain about it.

You will do all you can

to forget about it,

Just not think about it.

You will look at your scars and wonder about them.

Feel them and think about them.

But you won't say anything about them.

You will then turn to the mirror

And regret facing your fear.

Because you'll see your face and get mad about it,

You will see your body and scream about it.

You will see self-hatred and try to forget about it.

but you can't forget about it.

Not until you take your blade and bleed about it.

But, you will never feel better about it

Because:

you've                                                           ­                                                         
       ­                                                                 ­                
hit                                                              ­                
                                                  
rock                                      
                      ­                
bottom.

There's no getting better from this

But you WILL NOT cry about it.