What am I?
I am that friend that will stay awake with you until four in the morning to talk you off the ledge, or to listen to you vent.
I am that friend that you can ***** over hundreds of times, and I will get over it to give you another chance. Even if you don't deserve it.
I am that friend that wants nothing more than for you to be happy and content with your life and yourself.
I am that friend that does absolutely everything in my power to make you understand how amazing you are.
I am that friend that hates to see my friends broken.

What am I not?
I am not that friend that others will stay awake with to talk off the ledge or listen to my vents.
I am not that friend that will ***** you over a hundred times.
I am not that friend that people give a rat's *** if they're happy or content.
I am not that friend that is asked if I'm okay. I literally have to get it out on my own to someone because no one cares.
I am not the first choice friend, family member, or person.
I am not the funniest person.
I am not popular.
I'm not gorgeous.
I'm not brilliant.
I'm not skinny.

I am there for myself to pick my own pieces off the ground. Everyone else has their own problems to deal with, why should I ask them to help me with mine?

I used to think I needed a certain person to keep me sane when my loved one was gone; when I needed someone to talk to,
But I seem to have forgotten all the horrible things they have done to me,
All of the scars they have caused mentally and physically,
All the pain you caused,
But after all of the horrible things you have not only done to me but to the ones who cared about you,
I defended you when you should have gotten nothing more than a '*******' from me,
I defended you even when I knew you were lying,
Because unlike you, I'm a loyal friend,
But you have ruined almost everything good you had in your life, and because losing the good is your fault, I feel no sympathy,
So stop making yourself seem like the victim, because in the end you did this to yourself,

I learned that I don't need someone who gave the impression of helping me when you turned around and made fun of me,
I'm done with you,
Have a nice life,
The smile I used to give you that was so bright,
Has no turned to a '*******, *****'
And have a goodnight.

I never promised to stop.
I never said I would be okay.
I never said my two friends, who live in my mind, would leave me alone.
If I tell you I'll be okay, I'm telling you what you want to hear.
I know it hurts people.
I know it's not okay.

I don't care.
It makes me feel better.
It helps me, and comforts me like nothing else can.

Those two voices in my head tell me what I want to hear once the deed is done.
They give me a piece of mind like no one else can.
I'm sorry if you don't like some of the things you find out that I do; I don't want to hurt you. But I can't keep deluding myself to the fact that not doing those things will help me.

They don't.

I need someone. I go to the one I'm supposed to confide in.
But the one you're supposed to confide may not comfort you because you don't believe what they're saying to you.
'Babe, you're gorgeous'
Then tell me why my stomach is bulging. Tell me why my stretch marks are screaming at me. Tell me why I feel the need to get rid of everything.
When I don't believe you, don't get mad.
Try and see it from my point of view.
Am I now not supposed to ever come to you when I'm feeling down, or have a problem, or a good rant?
Am I supposed to bottle up my problems because you feel negative?
Let them slowly **** me, but keep my mouth shut and keep giving you smiles so you believe I'm okay.
When I die, at least I can say 'At least I didn't tell him my problems because now he won't know I've been rotting away for months'.
You can be happy until you're staring at my body in a hospital or morgue.
You can be happy until I'm more broken than I am now.
You can be happy not knowing I'm not okay.

You can be happy while I'm dying.

Because getting away from the world for six hours is so amazing. You feel like no one exists and it's just you and the person whom you take with you.
Because the four mile hike up hill, is like the four thousand mile hike to the real life you dream of.
Because the top view is so breathtaking that you feel the air being ****** out of your lungs, but you don't need that oxygen. You just need the sight in front of you and for it to never leave.
Because pushing yourself to not stop in the middle of the hill and making it to the top shows that if you push yourself, you can go farther than you originally planned.
Because you don't need drugs and alcohol and *** to feel alive. You just need to let go of all the poison in your life and just breathe in something new.
Because the stories you make in your youth, will bring happiness to your future.
Because freedom comes when you aren't asking for it.
Freedom is at the top of the mountain. You just have to push yourself to keep going.

I think in rhymes and melodies. I think in anger and in hate. I think in lust and in love. I think in pain and in numbness. I think in blood and in sin. I think in light and in dark. I think in Heaven and in Hell. I think in ink. Everything that passes through my head is written down. My dream and nightmares. My happiest thoughts and darkest secrets. My mind is an endless maze of left and rights, no direction to string together a normal sentence.
There is no way to understand my thoughts. What I say and what I think are worlds apart in so many ways. I'm not nearly as put together as I once tried to believe I was. I'm good at looking like it.
When someone says 'The people with the biggest smiles have the most pain', they are often not wrong. I will keep you believing I am A-okay in the halls, but in four walls I am a mess. I'm a million pieces put together into one, but I'm one piece shattered into a million. You can see me scattered on the floor in blood and tears and I can see no light at the end of a tunnel.
Twists and turns are supposed to lead us right, but I only seem to end up left. Take that however you want.
Do not overestimate a smile.

I've surrounded myself with people who have scars on their forearms, death in their past, and pills fading in their blood streams. I never knew about these when I met them, it's just some kind of magnet I have to them. The man I fell in love with has them on his arms, and when he looks at mine, he frowns at me with sorrow written on his face like a book. He promises me to let these fade and leave my skin alone. But how can I do that when I know what each and every last one of them represent. Each line is a different memory of my past. Bad, horrible, and even worse than one could imagine. Some are just from when I was numb and wanted to feel something. I've learned that it doesn't help, but I've become friends with the feeling of hurting myself. And it's not always with a cool metal object in my hands. It's sometimes not mutilating my body. Sometimes, it's simply just letting my mind go to the worst places. The places that leave me crippled on the ground shaking. If you could see inside my mind, you'd wonder what the living **** was wrong with me. The answer? I don't even know.