I'm empty again
All emotions and feelings
Drained away
Leaving me empty
Its nothing new
I'm used to it now
But still it feels wrong
What should I do?
How can I make it stop?
Empty again
I hate it
But hate is just a word with no meaning
Nothing behind the words
I love you is just a thing people say
It doesn't mean anything to me
I hurt my friends because I can't understand the things they are feeling
Empty again
Again
Again
I am
Empty

As I sat upon a mountain glade

I chanced upon a fairy raid.

There's beauty and joy and danger to see,

Danger at least for a mortal like me.

Though music was played I could hear none

As Sunday's faded and moonlight shone.

The Fairy King and Queen passed on by,

Raised upon oak leaves, servants held them high.

I saw fairies drink from acorn cups provided by the trees,

Though tired and thirsty none was offered,

From any of them to me.

Then the fairies arose and formed a ring

And a tiny creature began to sing.

Soon the dancing was fast and free

I was dizzy but watched with glee.

Then all too soon the dawn light appeared

And before my eyes the fairies cleared.

I felt forlorn to see them go

Fairy folk put on quite a show.

Where they went to I can't be sure

I'll only tell you what I saw.

There is a word

More powerful than any other...

Mythologised,

Romanticized,

Deified.

Men would fast for it,

Fight for it,

Live for it,

Die for it,

In hopes it could be passed

From one generation to the next.

Religions have been founded on it.

Countries went to war for it.

Way before Tolkien devised one ring to rule them all

There was a word,

Whispered and screamed.

The word was peace.

All I ask

Is don't tell me

Show me.

They are treating me like I'm sick.
I know what I am.
And sick is not one of the word I would choose.
Hurt,
Yup.
Lost,
Definitely.
Scared,
Hopeless,
Dark,
Yes, yes, and yes.
But sick?
No.
I thought telling my teacher would be easy.
I reached out to her because I know she can help me
But, I think I..
I...
I need help
I need friends and family to know what I'm doing behind all these closed and locked doors.
Because maybe if they know,
They can help break the doors and melt the locks.
I need love.
Not people telling me I am sick.
I hate hearing people describe self harm and depression
As a sickness
If I was sick I would be throwing up not cutting my arm to see if I still bleed,
If I was sick I wouldn't go to work I would stay in bed and read all day not drag myself out of the warm embrace that is the sheets and pillows I sleep in,
If I was sick it would be shorter than seven months of pain and hurt.
I need a psychiatrist,
I need a therapist,
Not some **** bag telling me "just be happy. you'll get over it."
And worst of them all is "its just a phase"
I know I'm not depressed
I know I'm in a depression
I know I can't look at a blade without thinking of all the blood I have spilled,
I know I need help.
but what I don't know it how to ask for it.

When i say goodbye
Don't wait for my reawakening
Because i am already dead
My sense can't vindicate
What i am!