While everyone else keeps walking
I’m frozen in time
stuck in a dilemma
of whether it’s worth it to take just one more step
to join the crowd
or to go unnoticed as an individual.
My voice is muted
by the laughter that flies by to taunt me
the wind carries the others’ words of disdain towards me
even if it was spoken with the softest whisper
the air still picked it up and brought it to me.
If I kept on walking would I be part of the crowd
or would I still stick out
as the elephant in the room?
And when I left that day,
on February 20th,
did they ever really care?
They just kept on walking
while I was stuck for weeks
trapped in a bubble of melancholy.
I’m still in the same place I used to be
but in a new form
where they all say they love me
and they still always seem to move on.
I’m just another face,
another phase,
of a short part of their life,
a meager replacement for the one they had before.
And I’ll always wonder when that day will come
when they say they’ve had enough,
when there’s someone better to take my place,
and they all keep moving on.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 12:52 AM UTC
Tell me what I've done wrong,
and how I can make it up to you.
I want to know why you don't like me
when you hardly know anything about me.
Tell me why I don't matter to you.
I've done everything I can
so you would like me
but it's never enough.
My generosity
will never live up to your expectations and your high standards.
Tell me why you never take my side.
You always side with people who've hurt me,
but you can never consider
how that person made me feel
and all the pain they left me with.
Tell me why everyone hates me.
Just because I look different than others,
and I dress different,
and I have scars on my arms,
doesn't mean I deserve to be hated
when I truly did nothing to make them hate me.
Tell me why they hurt me.
It took me finally speaking up
to find out what my so-called best friend thought of me and my trauma.
I've been hurt for years,
and their words stab me like sharpened daggers.
I don't know why any of this happened to me,
but maybe there's a reason.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:33 AM UTC
I can feel someone standing over me
Watching,
Waiting for me to respond,
I never do,
but it just keeps waiting.
They follow me wherever I go,
always watching me.
Watching my every move
and waiting to laugh at me when I mess up.
They hang above my head in my vents,
calling my name,
whispering.
I can see its glowing eyes in the cold darkness of my room at night.
Even though it's ******* terrifying,
I can't stop looking,
my eyes are glued to the ceiling.
When they tell me to do something I want to do it.
When they tell me words
and insults
I think they're true.
I can't sleep in my room because of the man in my vent,
He watches me while I sleep.
There's cameras everywhere.
In the shower,
in my lights,
I am trapped.
My every move is being watched and broadcasted to millions,
all my friends now know every single detail about me
I feel exposed.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:32 AM UTC
I'd never felt safe in the hospital.
It only made me feel worse.
When someone says, "You might need to go back to the hospital,"
I remember a sleepless night in a hospital bed,
watching boring movies on a little television,
cuddled up with my mom
in cold, thin blankets.
That only happened when I was twelve.
Residentials were no better.
While the staff were supposed to be watching me,
a sixteen year old was asking me,
"Have you lost your virginity yet?"
"What's the oldest you'd date?"
My parents told my therapist,
only for them to say,
"He's leaving tomorrow,
and he's not violent."
He told me he was violent,
but they probably just wanted to keep the beds full.
PHP and IOP is what felt best for me.
I made my best friends,
just like most of my friends,
which were made in treatment facilities.
It didn't necessarily make me better,
since I keep getting sent back to residentials,
but the people there helped me feel better at least temporarily.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:31 AM UTC
I wish I had emotional stability.
My emotions come and go like waves,
and even though they carry no permanence,
it's inevitable;
they'll be back before I know it.
I don't want to die if it's not by suicide.
Right now, I have no intent to **** myself.
I want to live to do crazy things,
but I don't know how I'll feel in one month,
one week,
even one day.
Suddenly I'll be laying in bed,
wondering why I'm even still alive.
I'll be struck with another depressive episode
and writing my suicide notes,
texting my therapist,
"I just don't want to live anymore."
I wish I wasn't so unstable,
so ******* unpredictable.
I don't know how I'll be feeling in the next minute or hour,
which makes it hard to know what's coming next.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:30 AM UTC
I'm driving myself crazy
by putting in so much effort for everyone else
just to never get it in return.
I listen to their problems,
and I give them advice,
but the second I open my mouth,
They don't care about a single thing I say.
I'm driving myself crazy
by thinking everyday might be my last.
Every month there's a new suicide plan,
with a new way to **** myself.
I know I'm never going to act on those plans,
but I make them just in case something's different that day,
and I choose to actually do it.
I'm driving myself crazy
by overthinking everything I do
and everything I say.
I'm worried I'm pushing people away,
and no one's going to be my friend
because I say stuff that's embarrassing
or weird.
I'm driving myself crazy
by thinking about how I may be losing my mind.
I'm off all of my antipsychotics
and only on one antidepressant.
I'm suddenly worried about the cameras that could be in my lights,
the person that may be speaking to me from my vent,
and that everything I say is being recorded on my phone.
When people tell me there's something wrong with me,
or I'm crazy,
it drives me more crazy,
because I can't stop thinking about how I'm losing it more everyday.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:30 AM UTC
My anxiety is killing me.
It hits me like a double decker bus,
crashing into me with full force.
Suddenly,
the school nurse is on the phone with my mom,
because I'm sick.
But really
I just can't handle the sinking feeling in my chest
and the nauseous feeling in my stomach that comes with anxiety.
I wish I could talk to people.
I'm worried I'll say the wrong thing,
or scare people away.
I'm worried that if I talk,
I'll say something personal,
and suddenly
there's a rumor going around the school
that I'm crazy,
and everyone will know I've tried to **** myself 16 times.
I have trouble going to school.
I can't handle everyone's eyes on me.
I wonder if they like me,
or if I'm just that ******* hard to look at.
Maybe they think I'm fat,
or that I look ****** up.
But it will never be as bad as the feeling
of constantly hearing the rumors about my ****** abuse
from people who don't know ****
and only heard it from the person who left me with that trauma.
I guess what makes it worse is that I lost a friend,
and even though that friend tells me I need to forgive and forget my abuser,
and she's a really ****** friend,
I really lost something that day.
A light in me died that day we fought,
a light that can be mimicked,
but never replaced.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:29 AM UTC
When I'm already distressed,
I hear the voices.
"Someone's in my vents," I think to myself,
"There's cameras in my lights."
I sleep in my parents' room
because I feel someone standing over me.
I hear someone say my name.
It sounds so real and it's really scary.
Sometimes during class,
I'll hear my name,
but I know it's not real
because no one knows I exist.
I'm an outcast.
People think I'm weird because I hear voices,
and see things that aren't there.
They call me schizophrenic,
or say that I'm mentally ill.
I wish I'd never told anyone about the voices.
Sometimes when I take my meds,
I miss the voices,
and the figures,
even though they scare me,
they bring me a weird comfort,
a comfort that cannot be described,
and is not given by anything else.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:28 AM UTC
Everyday,
I show up to school.
The teachers don't know what's going on with me,
and I don't want them to.
I grab my pencils
and grab my books.
The other kids give me ***** looks.
They don't like the way I dress,
so I don't like them.
Now that school's back in season,
the depression starts again.
The cutting,
the suicidality, which never even left,
all return again for fall,
just in time for school.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:27 AM UTC
I want the suffering to end.
I'm sick of the flashbacks,
the cutting,
the pain.
Everything that life brings me,
I'm ******* tired of.
I want the hallucinations to go away.
It scares me to hear someone call my name,
or to see someone stand by my door,
only to realize there's no one there.
It almost makes me sad
that my brain made it up
and none of it was real.
I want to feel free again.
I'm done sleeping on my parents' bedroom floor,
and being consumed by an addiction to self destruction.
I want to be free of thoughts and compulsions to harm myself in any way I can.
I want it all to end.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC