Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that I never stood up for myself,
or commented on your sexist remarks,
or the daily jokes about mental health
or suicide.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I just never wanted to be "that feminazi *****" you always talked about.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that my depression made me suicidal,
because I know that that was such an inconvenience for you.
And that my anxiety was so bad that I had panic attacks at the thought of you loving someone else.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have had feelings too.
How stupid of me.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that I didn't understand why you wouldn't come near me,
why you could only love me on your own terms,
or why you would go for days without looking at me.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have though that I deserved love.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you talked to my best friend behind my back,
when you wouldn't even look me in the eye.
All the times that you flirted with her,
and she flirted back.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I should have known that I wasn't good enough for you.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you broke up with me over text,
because you were "too much of a coward" to do it in person,
while you filmed the whole thing while your friend watched,
and laughed as my heart broke.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have expected anything kinder.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that my mental health was "just for attention",
and that I started to get better without you.
Or that I could actually laugh,
and smile,
and not hate myself for it.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I didn't deserve happiness.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you had to take away the last shred of hope I had,
that dumping me and destroying my reputation was so ******* you,
that when I tried to tell our friends why I couldn't be around you,
you made them drive me to tears,
and drive me away.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I should have known that you would infect them too.
It's like you were poisonous.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you turned my friends against me,
that you became violent and aggressive,
that you took out your anger about me on our shocked and confused friends,
that you thought you could treat everyone else just like you treated me.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I should have done something to stop you before it was too late...








Dear his next girlfriend,
I'm sorry that I didn't try hard enough to show him that what he was doing was wrong,
you are strong enough to stand up to him.
I forgive you for going behind my back,
I knew it was coming from the start.
Remember that you are not alone,
and that you never really did made any mistakes,
because it wasn't your fault you were dating someone so toxic.

I love you,
and I will be here for you
when he breaks you.

I can't move,
And I can't breathe,
And my hands are shaking at the thought of starting to leave.
And I don't know if I want to say goodbye,
So please don't give me a reason why.

I'm the girl who ***** at sport and lies to get out of games.
I'm the girl who stresses too much, who spoils the moment.
I'm the girl that looks in the mirror and wants to cry because she can never look beautiful.
I'm the girl who has to fight with herself to breathe.
I'm the girl that can never be happy for her friends achievements
because she knows that she will never amount to anything.
I'm the girl that has breakdowns in class because she can't handle failure.
I'm the girl that curls up in a ball with her hands on her head and tries to block out the demons in her head.
I'm the girl that makes herself bleed.
I'm the girl that wishes she was dead.
Yeah,
I'm that girl.

But,
I'm the girl that people rely on.
I'm the girl that my friends ask for help from.
I'm the girl that gets perfect grades.
I'm the girl that is told she looks beautiful.
I'm the girl that people would **** to be.

But what they don't know is that that girl is killing me.

There are vines on my hands.
                                                          ­       -They're creeping up my spine-
They're twisted and they share wicked smiles
                                                      And­ their smiles aren't meant for me.
I wrap them around my fingers
                                                        ­Their darkness appealing as death,
With poison made of ink.
                                                         ~~~

I weave in flowers,
                                                        ­             They're painted all in black
In the hopes of distracting from how I'm trapped.
                                                        ­                      But I like it that way;
They're small and pathetic.
                                                       ­                     They're a mess like me.
                                                         ~~~

But it's not just the vines.
                                                          ­       There are eyes on my skin too
My hands are covered in everything I can't say.
                                                            ­       They watch my every move.
You just have to get close enough to look -
                                                                ­              - Watch out; they bite
They're hidden in the vines.

      The vines on my hands.                         *The vines on my hands.

I wish that I was dead.
The thought has scared me for as long as I can remember.
and it scares me because I'm terrified at how close the thought becomes reality each day.
At school; walking by the main road to class, building up the courage to throw myself into the busy traffic.
At home; the knowledge that there are razors in the room behind me.
At night; the morbid dream scenarios my mind creates.
I wish that I was dead.

I wish that I was dead.
But I don't want to feel the slow pain of suicide.
You have no idea how grateful I would be if someone could take the choice away from me - if I could be caught in a horrible accident, or develop a fast-acting and fatal disease.
And I know it sounds like a horrible thing to say, but I really do.
I wish that I was dead.

I wish that I was dead.
I cant do anything some days without screaming the words in my head.
IwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdead.
I know that so man people have it so much worse than me.
I know that I'm selfish.
I know that I would put the people I love through hell.
But,
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
I can't bear the pain I cause myself.
The pain I cause others.
The pain they cause me.
I could scream the truth to them in a pool of my own blood, and they would still ask; "why did you have to make such a mess?"
Nothing that I do matters anymore.
Nothing that I do is worth it now.
Even the things that I love hurt me endlessly.
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
The people I love and the people who love me.
They don't even realise that they **** me with every breath.
Every word.
Every heartbeat.
I know that they love me. Now.
but I'm not sure how much more of their punishment I can endure.
they don't even notice.
God,
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
And there is nothing that anyone can tell me that will change that. Not forever.
Because what I say, I mean with my whole heart;
I have loved.
I have been loved.
I have known true happiness,
and I have known true pain.
And still,
I wish that I was dead.

True pain is never something that you can see easily.

I sit there like a balloon, fit to burst,
and no one even turns their head.
I've been pushed, and pushed, and pushed and pushed andI'mjustsogoddamntiredofitallandIjustwanttoscream.
How can they not have noticed?
I mean, it's not like I'm trying to hide it,
I'm long past that.
Do I really mean that little to them that they never noticed me before?
Have I always looked as depressed on the outside as I am on the inside?
I know they care - I know they do.
I just need them to notice me for once.
notice me when I need them most.

I don't know what will set me off,
or how explosive I'll be when it does;
Once I start, I'm never really sure that I can stop.
Will it be the picture of upset, my hands linked behind my head, legs drawn close, unable to stop the tears from spilling out of my painfully red eyes - uncontrollable sadness.
Or will it be screaming anxiety, my claws finding their usual tearing spots in my scalp, my body trembling with the effort of not screaming at the top of my lungs and falling to literal pieces on the polished floors.
Or will it be like last-time; small, silent self-pitying.
unnoticeable.
The kind that come out of no-where and takes you by surprise, that you cant do anything about or someone will see, the kind that you hide with your hands whilst pretending that you're getting on with your work and not wishing that you were dead.

you never know with me - it's just one of the many flaws of my mind.
so please - please - just notice me now.