i shouldn't have the privilege of feeling sad when people leave me because i never do anything to show them that i wanted them to stay in the first place

i hurt myself countless times today
but only this time not physically
i hurt myself like i won't stop thinking about the things that make me feel worthless
i hurt myself like i daydream about the boys that make me feel unsure of myself just when my confidence was starting to rise
i hurt myself like i let these feelings take over my mind completely so that whether or not i think i'm good enough is based on my assumptions of why everyone that momentarily makes me feel secure doesn't talk to me for a day or two
i hurt myself like i'm writing these ******* thoughts down on paper as if thinking deeper about it is going to do anything other than rip open old wounds
i hurt myself like i sabotage my own happiness because it's so easy to tear down what is just a light veil draped over all these years of self hatred and low self esteem that has built up so much it could reach the earths core
i hurt myself like i know i won't stop until i've convinced myself that i am nothing

i'm afraid to be awake at night alone
not because of the darkness in my room or the monsters under my bed
but the darkness in my heart and the monsters in my head

i am young and i am weak
my life is progressing and i'm afraid i'm being left behind
though i have no motivation to try and catch up
my memories of family dinners consist of shouting and more shouting
accompanied by the distinct feeling of my body slowly beginning to explode from the inside out from the frustration of never being able to make it stop
all i wanted was dead silence
all i got was a painfully loud abyss that devoured my entire being in flames of anger that i'm still hoping will one day fizzle out
i was certain i would never want to have another one again
but my father is in europe with the new woman in his life
worrying that he's begun to neglect his children that have become too accustomed to change to even notice if he doesn't call as often as before
and my mother is staying the night at a man's house that she hardly knows
something she would've insisted she would never be the type to do
and this kitchen table that has sat vacant for two years forces me to realize that the sounds of hatred and shouting are like a lullaby to me
and god knows i need some sleep

i feel my mind getting sicker
polluted by my constant being alone
i suppose i have ambitions but my unsettling disregard for how my life turns out clouds every corner of my thoughts
i rather dabble with alcoholism than improve my art
i rather block out all the noise of the world with music every day and every night than try harder to graduate
i rather drive myself insane stuffing every issue inside my head to mingle with my frustration and befriend my sadness than simply tell people how i feel
i rather die than live to age 30 and see my beauty fade right before my eyes
i rather pull away from great people than risk them trying to analyze what my impulsive and irrational actions mean
this is how it feels to hit rock bottom at seventeen