Today,
one of my friends told me
'you look different.'

At first,
I didn't take note;
I was messed up and it's just one of those things;
I didn't have my glasses
and my hair looked different to how I usually style it.
'no,' she said, 'it's not that...'
but,
then I heard it again;
'you look different.'

I didn't know what else to say but;
'that's the second time I've heard that this morning! ha ha',
laughing off the funny coincidence.
I asked her what was different,
but she too couldn't say...

No one could tell me what it was,
but everyone I asked,
they all said it,
all of my closest friends
and someone I barely know anymore.

'you look different.'

and,
I was talking to my friend about it,
when I jokingly said;
'well maybe I'm just happier than usual! ha ha'
but she looked kinda sad.
My other friend said
'wait, relax your face',
so I did.
'yeah, that's it!'

'you look different.'

'no,' I thought 'you just aren't used to seeing me happy'
this has been my day, it was way above average, so even though this happened, I really had a great day. I hope you guys can say that you laughed as much as I did :)
I want to scream.

no,
I need to scream.

Because crying can only get you so far
in the destruction of yourself
that after a couple hours,
it seems pointless.

I want to put a blade to my thighs
and cut.
I want to find a bottle
and drink.
I want to buy a gun
and point the barrel to the roof of my stupid mouth

and pull the trigger.

Some may call me impulsive,
some may call me an attention seeker
- as many I know have -
but I'm really just desperate.
That's all.
I'm just desperate for a release from the hell that I've created
that is spiralling way out of my control,
and has been for ten years of my short life.

I wouldn't care if I died tomorrow.
I really wouldn't.
Because I know that if I did,
my family would have one less thing to cry over at dinner time.

And, yes,
I know that they would cry at first,
but then they'd move on with their lives,
onto things that actually make them happy;

My mum could get home from work and not have to deal with my mood swings, making her cry.
And my sister would be able to focus on her talents without the burden of her little sister there, constantly holding her back and messing her up.
And my dad, would be able to stop pretending to be OK when I shut down his attempts at making me smile, which makes him depressed.

I can see what I'm doing,
and I want to scream.

I need to scream,
because if I don't,

I don't know how to stop this hell.
10/06/18
I'm pissed off,
in absolute tears
and wishing that I could take it back.
I want to just curl up
and blast music into my eardrums,
but I don't have my earphones
because they're in the same room as you.
And I cant just go in there,
pick them up and leave,
and I can't just listen to music without them;
it seems almost disrespectful
to do anything but
sit in my pitch-black room.
In silence.
That is what people will expect of me,
and I can't break the silence.
Even the sound of the buttons on my keyboard
are too loud that I'm scared someone will hear
and hate me even more than they do now.

God,
I'm such an idiot
.

Why do I always do this?
people are just trying to be nice,
friendly, supportive.
They're my parents for fuck's sake!
why cant I manage to get out a sentence
that doesn't make my mother leave the kitchen table
so that she doesn't have to cry in front of her daughters?
That doesn't stop me from knowing though.
And all the while I spit venom from my mouth,
I think to myself;
you asshole, you asshole, you fucking asshole,
look what you did.
LOOK WHAT YOU DID!
Why can't I just accept that I'm bad for everyone I love
and just cut to the chase
and kill myself
before anyone else gets hurt?
Another stupid argument. this could be about literally any day though, because this exact scenario happens at least five times a week.
- 10/06/18
have you ever just lay in bed,
crying you heart out,
hugging a pillow because there is no one else who loves you,
and just prayed for everything to just
slow down?
I wish I could make things,
better.
I wish I -
why is this so.
Hard, I don't understand
why?

What was it about -
her.
Me. You. Said that I -  
I don't even.
Understand what -
I don't even know what,
I am going.
To.

Why did it,
have to be like.
This, I never.
We never -
could we just.
Try and. fix,
things. I don't.
I.
I don't, know.

I don't
know how to.
to, to -  
breathe.
I don't -

breathe.
Ever since I could talk,
I have only ever given you gifts with my words -
you were my first, after all.
I never told you all the hateful things burning my tongue,
even though your own words made me want to scream
"I HATE you mummy!"
I never did it,
because I knew that it would hurt you more than your words hurt me.

I can remember curling up on your lap,
watching bad TV in the living room,
warm and safe and silly.
And every now and then,
when I thought you were feeling down,
I would wrap my tiny arms around you and say,
"mummy, I love you."
because I knew what I could mean to feel a bit of love every now and again.

'But, mummy, why did I have to grow up?'

I know that things got hard.
I know that a lot of it was my fault -
if not all of it -
but, mummy,
you don't have to be so damn mean.

I know that you were stressed,
and that I was depressed,
and that our family was still clearing the headache from the last SCREAMING match,
but why couldn't you just let me finish my - ?
... sentence.
I was going to say 'sentence', but you cut me off.
Again.
Why wont you just listen to your daughter when she says she needs you?
Why, mummy, is it what no matter how many times I say,
"mummy, I love you",
all you hear is,
"mummy, I hate you!"?

Tell me, mummy,
if you are really so wise,
who's fault is it that I cant just say,
"mummy, l love you" any more?
Who's fault is it that, now,
all I seem to say,
all I seem to cry is;
"mummy, I love you, but..."
for the last couple of years, my relationship with my mother has been somewhat rocky; as my mental health deteriorated we started to have more and more arguments, and this only resulted in more problems and worse arguments. I wrote this after an argument we have just had (09/05/2018) about insomnia and how I am coping with it.
I hope that in the future I will be able to look back at this and learn.
I can imagine,
walking down the main street of the little town we lived in,
squirming my hand out of my mothers hand,
craning my neck,
wide eyed,
to look at the people passing us by.

what if I saw myself,
a decade in the future?

I would never even know it was me.
would I look at my mid-length hair,
and think it would be prettier longer?
or my dimpled cheeks,
and wish that I could fill them in?
would I see my waist,
and want to squeeze it smaller?
or my thighs,
forever too big to be 'beautiful'?

no.
because in the mind of a child,
none of that would matter.

I would look up at these
tall, independent, powerful girls
and want to be like them.
I wouldn't care that my thighs touch,
or that I don't have a flat stomach,
or that I don't have Rapunzel's golden locks.
I wouldn't want to change me.
I would want to grow up to be
just as beautiful,
powerful,
independent,
strong,
talented,
lo­ved,
intelligent
as I am now.
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