the title caught you didn't it?

you see, suicide is like a book.

you don't seem to care about the rising actions such as
self harm, anorexia, self hate.

you only care about the plot.

but, how can you be so concerned about suicide and want it to stop if you can't recognize or care about the signs that lead to it?

if you don't want our books to close early, why do you;

accuse us of faking,
saying we want attention because we talk about our illness,
not give us support and love?





suicide.



still caught your attention.

confusion is my main thought.

why did you do this to me?
why me?

my stomach keeps twisting and turning at the
thought of what you do.

you are disgusting.

i want to scream and cry,
but i just remember you.

calling me beautiful and such.

you are sick.

why me?
why me?
why me?


why would you, how could you?

i haven't met you,
i haven't spoken a word to you,

and yet you leave me here numb.

feeling left without pureness,
left feeling unholy.


am i an object?

am i an object you can objectify?

she was like the moon.

a bright light with imperfections
but,
like the moon she had a dark side.
it was darker then black.

it was cold.
no one liked it there so they'd only stay when it was sunny.

she didn't want to be the moon,
the girl wanted to be the sun.

everyone loved the sun, bright, happy and vibrent.

she would give anything to the sun.
but,

she was like the moon.

why do pretty girls

cut them selves

starve themselves

want to die?

because once upon a time they weren't pretty to you.
they were weren't pretty to society.

why? because we build this dumb notion of what beautiful really is.
blue eyes
blonde hair
long skinny legs
flat chest and tummy.

no

that does not makeup a beautiful person.
nor is it perfect.

i am not perfect
you are not either.

so why do we degrade eachother
if what we have under our complexion is all the same.

sometimes i want to take off my skin.
and show everyone what lies i hid under my complexion.

there is no where to run, to lies to hide behind

just the painful truth

the agonizing honesty i've hidden behind a simple smile.
the words i wanted to speak but never had the courage to say.

our skin is just something we hid behind to shield our real selves and our true form and what we all have under our exterior is the

s a m e.

we are all identical.

my illness is something that is apart of me.
it is solely not me.

it is not the only thing i focus on.

whenever i tell someone i suffer from a mental illness, they have more questions then i can count. also including some accusations and negative comments.

but if i tell them about me, they reply with a "cool" or a "nice." and don't seem interested at all.

everyone seems more interested in MY mental illness, not ME.

i am not my illness.

i don't say "hi, i'm depression"

no.

i do say "hi, i'm laura"

yes i have an illness, it is a part of me.

but not me