I want to scream until I convulse into a ****** rage of anger.
I can't believe what these figures tell me.
They shrug me off like an old rancid carpet of emotions.
They don't want my problems, but God forbid I ignore theirs and suddenly I'm the villain.
Not only do I have to keep limping as I carry the weights of myself, but I also have to carry one, no, two, no... five.
Five.
And everyone acts as if the Prozac has magically given me the HP boost to carry this on.
I ask for help when my sore body can't hold anymore.
I just feel like--
"IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M THIS WAY."
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO AGREE WITH ME ON EVERYTHING NO MATTER HOW BAD IT IS."
"YOU HAVEN'T HELPED ME AT ALL."
"PLEASE STROKE MY EGO MORE AS I PRETEND TO BE DEPRESSED LIKE YOU."
...Should I remind you of what I did for you?
How I tore my ligaments just so you can keep walking all over me?
How I forced to bite my tongue so hard that I began to ***** my own blood?
How I stayed through your ******* problems that had me rolling my eyes out of their sockets?
If only I can pretend to feel this **** as much as you do.
If only I could be a stone that you resemble to.
If only I could be so self-absorbing and privileged like you.
I wish I didn’t have to feel like this. I wish I wasn't starved of happiness that I rightfully deserve.
That I've actually worked for.
Unlike you.
Who was handed everything to them since birth.
Maybe that’s why you have the tendency to run away from your problems.
You’re scared.
You can’t grow up.
You think everyone will conform to your idealization of how a life is lived.
Because maybe that's what your parents wrongfully taught you.
You want to be the savior of those who are depressed.
You use their illness to your advantage to get some sick satisfaction off their pain.
And when they're left to tell you how wrong you are for that, you s--
"WELL HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP?"
"IT'S NOT MY FAULT THEY'RE DEPRESSED."
"I TRIED TO HELP BY STATING THEY WERE FINE EVERY TIME."
"NOW PLEASE LET'S TALK ABOUT ME!"
... It's atrocious that one will pretend to be some God to a person that is losing their faith.
These sad, sick people will keep stroking your ego because they have nothing else, no one else, but you.
Or so you think.
And you know that. You will keep playing this stupid game called Life by using cheat codes on single player for your own self-indulgence.
You will keep acting like the hero for the distressed damsel waiting in the other castle.
And you will keep quitting the game in a rage when you're sidelined by other quests.
It truly is selfish and disgusting.
But what you may not know, is that the damsel in distress has her own strategy of escape.
She has had to survive this game called Life amplified to Hard Mode.
She knows the way of this unfair game, ghosted to seem like a helpless poor soul in need of salvation from some sort of cowardly knight.

But what you, or anyone doesn't know,
Is she is almost at the end credit screen.
Where there is a happily ever after,
Made possible, completely without you.

Sometimes I wonder if the razor blades I used to drag onto my skin leaves bits and pieces of itself inside my body.
It would explain why I'm always being pulled back into my room, as if it were a magnet.
It irks me that I always find myself standing in front of my bed and hiding under the covers until a new day begins.
I pull myself out, but I end up in this dull lighted room every single time.
I wish I could stop but my body self consciously just wants to be in here.
Is it the accustomed loneliness? The overwhelming depression? The looming anxiety? It's too much, my brain can't comprehend.
I just think about this while I lay in this ******* tear soaked bed.
I let my mind race while my arm trickles with the damages I've done.
They say blood is thicker than water, but when it's self inflicted drops of blood and bittersweet saltwater tears, they're both just as heavy.
I find myself punching and banging my head against the wall next to my bedroom door.
I can just... turn the **** and ******* leave, but I always stop in front of it as if it were a monster I couldn't defeat.
Am I entrapping myself just to make myself suffer? Do I enjoy this torture? Do I just love watching my knuckles turn green and blue?
I feel like I'm obligated to stay in this stupid room.
Maybe it's the self hatred telling me I deserve to be confined.
Maybe then no one will see my stupid face.
Maybe then no one can hurt me again.
No one else can hurt me but myself.
I know the capabilities to which my own destruction towards myself extends.
Some times I feel like I'm intentionally keeping myself in imprisonment.
I can't love myself because people tell me I must stay away from what I fear.
Fear is supposed to drive me away, not let it become one within me.
And I feel like shooting out my brain will make this white noise ******* stop.
I feel like slitting my veins on my wrists will make everything go away.
It can be so easy to take all this weight off my worn out brain.
All the pain, all the ache, all the hurt, all the suffering, all the torture, all the bruises, all the cuts, all the voices, all the reminders, all the insecurities, it would all just go away.
With just one single movement.
I can interpret this in however I feel would be for the best.
I can either open my bedroom door and run without looking over my shoulder, or I can open up my skin and watch it turn into a red and white color.
I just... need to get up. Move. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Leave. Now.

.... But I can't.

Why do I try with you?
I can never win.

It's like building up the biggest sandcastle so far away from the ocean,
Yet you bring a bucket full of water and pour it out until it's just mush.
It's like fixing up a heart that is barely beating almost to full recovery,
Yet you grab it once again and dig your nails into it until it withers.
It's like bringing my head up from the tides to breathe for air,
Yet you grab my head and push me back down into the water.
It's like being worn out from a long day walking drenched by my rain cloud,
Yet you barge into my safe home with words as loud and hurtful as thunder.
It's like quieting the sad blue baby to sleep after hours of constant crying,
Yet you wake it back up once again with your own terrifying screaming.

Only I am the one crying until I awaken with puffy red eyes.
...
It just feels unfair and frustrating,
to feel so high and crash back down in a matter of seconds.

It's always the times where I feel alive, where I feel like I can walk.
And then I feel your hands push me back onto the ground,
As I listen to you blame me for not standing strong enough.
How doing this will leave me permanently scraped on the knees.
How my weak knees will force me to become a failure.
...
Sometimes I wonder how life would be without you.
Would I be happy? Probably, but my mom wouldn't.
It's the lesser of the two.
The latter of who is most important.
It's either the one you fell in love first while the other was forced.
It's abandoning the one that has less to lose.
The potential gain you receive from the kisses my mom gives you.
and I am the opportunity cost of your relationship with her, it seems.
You chose this life, yet you act like you despise it.
It makes me fear growing up, if growing up means to become cold and erratic.
...
Everyone wonders why it all affects me so much.
Very rarely do I get a break from the endless vast that holds me in its arms.
But when its tired arms puts me down, I'm able to walk freely.
I can breathe again, I can feel again, I can smile again, I can be me again.
Until you command the vast to hold me much tighter than before.
And I drink in the vast and let it soak into my brain as it leaks out my eyes.
And I can't help but do what I'm conditioned to do: blame myself.
I'm just the loss from the gain.
the chaos from the calm.
the bad from the good.
the pain from the pleasure.
the black from the white.
the second from the first
and let me tell you...

2nd *****,
But you wouldn't care.

I've been thinking more about you recently.
...No, not like that. Don't get the wrong idea,

Again.

You come back into my mind like the text notifications that would light up my phone.
Only this time I can't press the block button,

Again.

It's an odd feeling, a sort of confusion that gives me anger.
But I don't want to try and figure it out,

Again.

I was vulnerable, alone, suicidal, depressed, and you knew that.
You took advantage of me with your manipulative "I love you"'s

Again.

I fell for it, I was weak, and I loved you for awhile, I truly did.
Until you made me take off my clothes and give you a show,

Again.

It was intimate, for the first couple of months I thought.
But you began seeing me more as your ****** object,

Again.

But I wanted to believe you loved me.
So I opened my skin for you to make your home in me,

Again.

Did you deserve that? At the time, I thought it was only right.
But giving you my ***** home was my mistake,

Again.

The cycle continued, manipulation of *** for my dignity.
My identity was at stake, I was scared to hear you say,

"Again."

Silenced by threats that would expose me more than the skin I showed you.
So I, weak and stupid, fed into your fantasies

Again.

Emotional turmoils arose if I didn't give you what you wanted.
And I, depressed and scared of being alone, endured the hurtful words,

Again.

I had let your words define my worth.
I was nothing more but just someone who deserves this hurt,

Again.

There's a reason I stayed, but I feel like it was more rather for me than you.
I feel like some days I wanted this pain, or that I deserved it,

Again.

My trust was tattooed on your hand, my heart tattooed on your foot.
Never realizing the damages you left in me,

Again.

As you began to rattle my rib cage to wake me,
Asking me for more, and more, until I bled out my soul,

Again.

Forceful grabbing, soulless insults, groaning and yelling,
Then you'll leave, high and dry, for hours until you were ready to start,

Again.

My body shakes, my mind in disarray, buzzed like bees in a can.
I wept as I had to bandage myself,

Again.

You broke me as easily as a porcelain doll.
And I laid there, numb, as you kept moving your hips faster,

Again.

My body turned cold, as my heart packed its bags to leave.
I neglected myself, all for you, but you just wanted to keep going

Again.

You probably didn't care that I said I couldn't feel a thing.
You covered my mouth, ripped off my clothes, and forced yourself through,

Again.

Stating that I'll feel you inside, I'll feel our love in my chest.
But I cried and all I could feel was the yearning to slit my neck,

Again.

I had many breaking points, but none the worst as the last.
I was ready to give my tired body to the Reaper's arms,

Again.

And so I did, I left without a care of whatever you were going to do.
No matter how many threats and insults you shoved into my ear once

Again.

You wanted my hollow body that echoed your voice of "Take it off for me,
Again."
And I stab myself through my stomach, slice myself in half, rip you from the grip you had around my heart, snip your gnarly fingers from my brain, and say

"No."