The person who knows me best
is my worst enemy.
The person who knows me best,
I see everyday.

Isn’t it odd how
the person who knows you best
is in all actuality,
yourself?

Isn’t it strange that
if you tell yourself,
“You look good today,”
you might not believe it?

Isn’t it strange that
if you tell yourself,
“You’re an idiot,”
you’ll probably believe it?

You’d think that
the person who knows you best
would be nicer.
That you’d be nicer to yourself.

“I hate you.”
“**** this ****.”
“**** it all.”
“Go to Hell.”
“Worthless *****.”
“No one cares.”
“******* *****.”
“Just a ****.”
“Stupid girl.”
“Just go die.”
“**** yourself.”
“Help me.”
“Save me.”

There's a little saying,
"The grass is greener, on the other side."
You tell me this with a brick wall between us.
My side has some grass but it's dead and covered with weeds.
You tell me your side has grass that's green,
And even flowers and some trees.

You tell me this by yelling;
Your words going up and over the wall.
At my feet are pieces of wood to build myself a ladder.
Your words, they are convincing, so I start to work.
It's hard and new but you keep saying,
"The grass is greener here."

You make it sound so wonderful, to be in a place so clean.
But what it takes to get there is something you cannot see.
I'm working on the ladder when I hear a distant clap.
You yell to me, "It's still green here!"
But I can't see the grass you stand on, I only see the storm.

I need to climb the wall to get to a better place.
The sky may be blue and sunny,
But there are storms that come
Where the sky is black and rain comes down.
And I can't see the greener grass
you say is under your feet.
I only see the sky.

If I was honest
and you said,
"How are you today?"
I would say,
"Not okay."

And in a perfect world
you would say,
"Tell me about it."
And I would reply,
"I want to die."

And you wouldn't look at me
with those sad,
disappointed,
yet loving eyes.

You would say,
"That's okay."
"Just don't do it today."
"For me."

In my perfect world
you wouldn't degrade my feelings.
In my perfect world
you would give me an achievable goal.
In my perfect world
you would give me a reason.

But this is not my perfect world.

This is the.
*******. Worst.
world to be in
if you have a mental illness.

In this world
IF
I told you the truth
you would say,
"Nothing."
And I would watch you
walk away
with those eyes.

In this world
I don't tell you the truth.
Because it's better
to only hurt myself
and not to hurt you.​

My mind is
a Van Gogh painting.
Swirls of color
true to feelings
and full of truth.

There are shades of blue
and grey
and black.
They run together
in the feelings of darkness
and truth of depression.

There are shades of orange
and yellow
and red.
They run together
in feelings of nervousness
and truth of anxiety.

There are shades of purple
and pink
and gold.
They run together
in feelings of love
and truth of joy.

The colors run.
The feelings mix.
The truths disappear.
Into the mind
of the sick girl.
Who doesn't look it.

The tears?
They come and go.
With thoughts of
self-hatred.
With actions of
self-loathing.
Among the knowledge
that people
love me,
want me,
care for me.
So the tears,
they keep on coming.
Because the fight
of feelings
against myself,
for me,
never stops.
Even when I want it to.