"Why can't you hear me?"
"Why can't you just listen?"

"Why can't you hear me and why can't you just listen?"

I can't listen because anxiety is stuck between the teeth in my mouth and can't you hear the depression ripping the wallpaper?

"No, I can't. You shouldn't be so silly and you should stop being a child."

I can not stop being a child when I was always told to never grow up because I wouldn't make it.

And you... were right. I won't make it. Depression will continue to be there to tell me no matter what I wear, I will be ugly.

Anxiety will always be there to tell me that my decision is wrong.
No, I shouldn't do that.
No, they don't like you.
No, they do not care.

Even though they will call themselves friends and family...

They will never listen to what depression as a hobby.
And they will never know how the anxiety will affect every action you make to the point where it tells you not to breathe any longer because the people near you will scatter away just like... everyone did.

Should I run?

Should I scream?

Should I tell - no. They'll think I'm crazy.

Should I mention - no. They won't believe me.

Should I - no. No. No I can't.

Maybe running is a good idea after all.

No. That'd be suspicious.

Should I tell mom? No. She's in prison.

Should I tell dad? No. He wouldn't care.

Should I just... just...
They tell me to calm down, don't stress out, don't tell them.

Don't. They'll. Don't. Please. No. No. No means nothing. Nothing is no. No is nothing. Tell him no. Tell her no. Tell them no. No.

It wouldn't make a difference.

He wouldn't change his mind. He wouldn't-  he just-  they keep cutting me off-  he won't leave me alone. No. No.

N- wh-  why don't you tell him, them. she, they, her, it, thing to go away?

They can't go away unless he does.

They-  you-  why-  just... nothing.

It means... nothing.

My eyes are the things that should let you know what is wrong when my tongue keeps clicking and popping yet no words can come.

POP
CLICK

I can not speak.
My eyes are just like my mouth when anxiety comes crawling in a few minutes after I have spoken to my ******.
My eyes burn and itch from irritation from attempting to scratch out the memories of my mother.
The times she has left me alone
The times she would always hit my sister
The times she would do anything to get her way
The times she has tried to apologize for but no.
NO.
NO.
NO.

CLICK

I can only speak in words that rhyme with depression because that is the only thing my mind can come to think of.
Depression speaks in words… but I can not.
My hands are like clocks which never stop and time just keeps going on and on forever until I see him.
Until I see the person that has caused me to flinch when touched.
The person that has caused me to have trust issues.
The person that has made loving someone hard.

POP
POP

Shaking means I am thinking about him and the things he has done
So I guess I must always be thinking about the torture he has put me through.

Why didn’t you try to run
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you simply fight back?”

Your definition of simply is like trying to tell pink from blue.
My definition of simply is like trying to smash two objects together but eventually break.

My words mean nothing because my eyes can’t speak
They can’t leave that memory
They can’t stop thinking
Think.
Think.
Think!
Think!

CLICK
CLICK
CLICK

“W­hy didn’t you just… fight back?”

Sometimes it’s best to keep the things we hold dear to us to ourselves.
Just so the shadows don’t try to take them away.

The shadows are things we call friends because they’ve always been there.
They’re also called foes because of what they do.  It’s a secret though.
They told me not to tell.

One’s name is Janis. She wants to leave but never can. Another’s name is John. He always screams as if he’s forced to never stop.

They told me not to tell.

“Always keep it to yourself because we’ll take it away.”

“Why do you scream?  Why can’t you ever just sleep?!”

They told me not to tell my secrets because they’ll be used against me.

My name is Callie. I’m only age 6.
My name is ___. I have — who are you again?
My n-name is A- Al- Alexa. I have a s- stu- st- stutter
My name is Kelly.  I’m a mystery never solved.

They told me not to tell the-… no!  I won’t… they told me not to tell.

The shadows are my friends and the words will not hurt.

They told me they would —

The voices are my friends.  The voices are my friends.  The panic is my comfort.  The panic is my comfort.  The story is perfect.  Your story is perfect.  Our story is perfect.  
They’ll never know who I killed.
They’ll never know how it feels.
They’ll never know the voices were always there.

They told me not to tell my secrets because they’ll be used against me…

… but they also told me they’d never let me go even though they promised.  I guess the voices were right - I should have never told…

Being born with an abusive family isn’t a fun experience to live through.
You can survive but barely.
It’s like maggots eating away at flesh.
The flesh is your heart.
Maggots are the words.
You can tell me you understand what it’s like.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me how it feels to be put down for being called fat.
Tell me how it feels to be put down for trying to be an influence!
Tell me.
How it feels.
To be put down for who I am by “family”!
You don’t know.

Expressing who I am keeps me calm and secure.
Expressing but then being judged for acting like myself is such a hard feeling to bare.
Tell me what it’s like to lose a friend that you told all your secrets to.
Tell me what it’s like for you to come home to a drunken father.
Tell me what it’s like to come home crying because the kids on the bus made of you for having daddy problems.
Tell me what it’s like to endure physical pain from the inside out.
Tell me what it’s like to come home to your brothers telling you... “Dad’s in the hospital.”
You... do not know.

Depression with anxiety, hurt, and vicious pain are like a mixture of a freshly opened wound and salt.
It stings away at you until you’re no more.
Until you believe that you are worthless.
Until you believe that you can’t go on any further!

Is it right for someone to be discriminated for their color?
Is it right to stand by and listen to **** and suicidal jokes?
I’ve done it.
I’ve stood by because I was too afraid of what they would say to me.
How they would react.
What tiny little things they would use against me.
How does it feel to know how I feel now?
What will you do to me?
Hurt me?
It’s far too late for that.

You didn’t know…
That I have been through so much even though I smile.
That I take everything I have to say and bottle it up inside.
That I have tried to tell you but you just don't understand!

You don’t know what it feels like to be buried in a casket of darkness and fear.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me!
Tell me how it feels when others insult you.
Tell me.
Explain it to me!
Explain what it feels like to be but down for every little minor thing about you!
You… do not … know.

You want me to believe that this world is complete, delicate, special.
But how can I believe such a thing when nothing is being done to the children and adults who get abused and neglected?
How can I believe that this world is protective when the police system did nothing about a **** situation of a 6 year old girl?
How can I believe that this world is complete when we can't even be different without being judged?
How can I believe that this world is special when there's still so much wrong with it?
How can we see the world as such a thankful life when we can't even go out on the front porch to play without someone shooting accusations at our mind; making us think this world is perfect when in a real reality... it's not.

There's still poverty and blood shed of innocent victims because we pick the wrong people to "protect" us.
There's still so much to learn even if we can't see what the future may hold.

Ask me...
Ask me how my life is.
What has happened in my life?
So many things I wish I forget.

There's the alcoholic father:
The one who lets his daughter sip his beer to get "enjoyment".

There's the missing mother:
The one who never fought for her daughter and never looked for her.

Then there's the sister:
The one that would make people happy; was always a joy to be around but everything changed when she was gone.

At age 4 there was a little girl who wanted everything: a happy family, a fun life, protective brothers but that girl got the complete opposite.
Age 5:
Age 6: *****
Age 7, age 8, age 9
Age 10: Depression
11: Depression
12: Anxiety and depression
13: Anxiety and courage
14: Panic
15: Depression, anxiety, panic
16...

Age 13 was the year the girl finally told her sister-in-law about the **** her brother did. Only 3 people believed her.
Not her father, not her father's girlfriend, not her 3 brothers, not the police.
She was alone.
She tore and ripped through her anxiety like it was nothing to achieve absolutely... nothing.

There's a woman trying to get a boy into her car while he screams, "You can't make me!"
There's a man forcing a woman to have *** after 3 times that morning and she says, "You can't make me!"
There's a little girl being abused by her father when he said, "**** yourself."

That girl slipped through his hands and past his heart while the knife hit hers, and she whispered her last words to the alcohol running along her father's lips and the cheek he pressed against hers while he forced things upon her all done by laying in the hospital bed whenever she had come to see him. She silently took her last breathe with the words, "Daddy, you made me do this."