Sit across the psychologist,
and wait as they assess how to fix you.

Ignore the persistent buzzing from the ceiling, keyboard clacking,
box of what seems to be sedatives - just in case this goes wrong.

Pretend that you're having friendly conversation,
all while insides fail and you wonder if you'll make it to the end.

Tell them all the deepest darkest secrets,
those that you wouldn't dare whisper even to yourself at night.

Notice how they watch you with a critical eye,
picking you apart and laying out the pieces of yourself.

Don't flinch as they crudely collect the most painful parts,
for that just shows that theres still some left in you.

Don't whimper in grief as they discard of these ragged fragments,
dropping in a solution of escitalopram and hollow affirmations.

Don't notice how this left you with was an empty sort of numbness,
it's just apart of the process.

Don't tell them that of the shards still left wounds,
because it'll scar over and heal in (a long long interminable) time.

Don't mention how you still don't feel okay,
because then you must just be doing it wrong.

Don't tell them how you're still not, and will possibly never be okay,
Don't tell them that those shards are only growing,
Don't tell them that you're empty,
Don't tell them that you sort of miss the insisting hurt,
Don't tell them how you are simply not capable of being "okay",

because then they'll have to take more drastic measures.
Anything to help you get "better".

It's always between the two.
Myself or everyone else?
Myself or my family?
Honest to myself or acceptable to everyone else?
Truth or tradition?

I don't want to lose them, their respect, everyone's respect.
Nobody is going to accept me or take me seriously, and I can't just give up everything I'm known as.
Can't give up the little I have left.

But I can't live like this.
Every day like this just feels so wrong.
I hate myself,
I hate living.

I can't live my life like this, live someone else's life.
I try to convince myself that I'm wrong, that I'm just doing it for the 'trend', for attention
but I can't.
I can't stand looking like this, being seen as something I'm just not.

But a big part of society hates the existence of people like me,
my friends hate the existence of people like me,
my family hates the existence of people like me.

What am I meant to do?
I hate this so much.
The constant reminders, the self-hatred, peer-judgment, fear, frustration, people on social media and the news and the government and ****,
I hate this so so so much.

Why don't I feel good about this?
I've been practically killing myself for 3 years and... I got what I wanted.

"Wanted".

Did I really want this?
Was all that for just this?
I should be grateful, I know I should,
but I still find myself asking why.

Why?

They didn't do ****, I did.
They told me and all I said was "oh, wow".
I can't say I didn't expect it, but, I don't know.

I don't know.

I'm not mad that I got it, of course, but not really happy either.
I don't really feel anything about it. I tell people, and I don't feel any pride, just nothing.

Nothing...

nothing
nothing
nothing
nothing.

It always comes back to this.
I don't know why I always fall into the belief that they'll be okay
again.
Again.
Again.
It keeps getting bad.
Then it gets "better".
And I think it's really better,
But then it's not.
And
I don't know.
I hate this.

My life is an act.
I'm pretending all the time.
And the crazy thing is that it's still not right.
It's still not enough.
Again and again, i ask the world "why cant i be normal?"
The world never responds.
I play every part I'm asked, but an actor can't play two in the same scene.
What do you want me to do?
I don't understand

I'm so tired

Don't you wish, sometimes, that you could turn your brain off?

Sometimes they're all at once, one after the other
Those are usually the self-deprecating ones
They're like little flecks of hot cigarette ash on my heart
on my
           mind
that don't feel all that bad.
but when its one
after another                       𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱
after another                       𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
after another                       𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴
It consumes me in flames
The scalding heat leaving my heart melted and my mind raw
Until it's nothing but ash and
nothingness.                       𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Other times, they're completely random and
really ******* atrocious.
𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘍𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.
𝘗𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.
𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴.
𝘙𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤.
𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘑𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦.
𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴.
𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴,
𝘖𝘳- 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵
𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯                                
                                 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯                
              𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

It's terrifying.
Makes me think I'm going insane, or that I'm some monster
which, in transparency, isn't so unbelievable.

I truly just wish, most the time, that I could turn my brain off.

Why do I not want to tell them?

...

The last time I told them about something that was so important to me was when I came out to them as nonbinary.
I thought they were at least slightly accepting, she had had a gay friend after all, and they had never shown any obvious transphobia.
(Its funny how, after I came out, the bigotry became a lot more prevalent).

And so, I went to my grandma's kitchen, sat on the floor, in a corner, and typed out
"I am nonbinary"
in our group chat.
My thumb hovered over send for what seemed like an eternity
until, finally,
I pressed send.
And then I started to cry.

They had texted back "okay" and "what does that mean" but I didn't respond. I couldn't respond.
When she picked me up a few hours later, we talked.
Well, she talked.

She told me how I'm just confused
and how theres only two genders giving me some ****** up biology lesson about it, using the terms "gender" and "***" interchangeably.
and how society had just manipulating me to be this way
and how it was a sin against God
and how I don't get a choice in this
and how I'm a
beautiful girl
and I didn't have to be insecure about it.

I was
broken
by these words.
I cried that night.
I cried
           and cried
because I realized that
they would never accept me.
They would never love me.

I think I
                attempted
to
                                  ­              **** myself
that night.

I don't remember, exactly
There were so many attempts that I just
can't remember
anymore.

...

Why do I not want to tell them?

Because
I'm scared.
I don't want to be ridiculed and criticized.
I don't want to break my own heart again.
I don't want to be rejected again.
I don't trust them anymore.

I don't want to tell them, because they lost my
trust.