Sometimes it’s hard exploring a whole new world by yourself.
I want to know, why I am bad at making friends even though everyone loves me?

And sometimes you just fall into the corner and cry.
And sometimes you feel like you can do it all.
Like you can do anything.
And the next week you sit in that corner and ball your eyes out.
And you want nothing more than to die.
And that familiar feeling invades your soul again.
And what is the ******* point if it always returns?

Loosing hope in the man you love is a disappointing feeling like no other.

I think I’ll be disappointed

How are you?
Great!
What’s wrong?
Oh nothing, I just really want to die sometimes. Lol!

I go to the mall with 5 other people.
We have an enjoyable time.
I feel okay the duration of the visit.
Until the end, and I am not asked to be in any of the photos.
Until I realize I am still not a friend,
When I realize I still have no friends.
When I realize I’m not good enough.
When we get into the car and all I can think of is wanting to go home.
And then I remember how depressed I am at home as well.
And then I remember how my one person is going through a hard time.
And then I remember that there are no friends at home either.
And I imagine the ways to die in China.
I imagine all the ways to **** myself and maybe the only option is walking to the bridge and jumping off.
And maybe my body would be lost and then my family would think I was missing.
Maybe I should leave a note, I think.
And I try to feel numb. I try so hard.
I make it to the room and I turn the fan on so no one knows I am crying. I shower so no one hears but ******* ******* it, it is so hard to not take the razor in the shower and cut myself.
And ******* ******* it i made it so long.
And ****.
I made it years and I still just want to die.
I still crave and crave and need to harm myself.
Until I don’t. Because I didn’t get this far to cut my legs up anymore.
Until I sit In my bed and ******* ball my eyes out while I write a poor excuse of words complied into a post on hello poetry.
Until I listen to all the people in the common room chatting and laughing and living.
And I remember all the famous and amazing and accomplished people who still committed suicide.
And I recall those who got help that never worked.
And I remember the days before when I thought I was finally getting better.
And I can’t imagine living a life where I will always imagine myself walking off of a bridge.