Being alive isn't a gift. It's a temporary form of torture.
Everyone will hurt you.
Everyone will leave.
No one cares about your feelings.
No one cares about what you have to say.
People do bad things.
Everyone is a bad person.
It doesn't get better.
It will never get easier.
You don't go to hell. You are in hell.
Living is a temporary form of torture.

You were the first man to ever break my heart.
I think I was five.
I always looked at you like you had stars in your eyes.
You looked so tough, you acted so cool.
When I grew up I wanted to be just like you.
Then I got older and the stars in your eyes were dull.
You always smelled like cigarettes and your pupils were always huge.
I didn't know what that meant but I still wanted to be just like you.
I wanted to smell like cigarettes,
and I wanted a skull tattoo,
and when I got older, I wanted to be in a rock star.
Anything to impress you.
You were always gone.
I always wondered why you never wanted to stay with me.
As I got older, I slowly understood.
You had another love, and boy, did she treat you good.
I spent so many nights crying.
Wishing that you would stay.
Asking myself what did I do to make you go away.
So, I looked for you in other men,
and I promised myself that I wouldn't let those men break my heart,
and it didn't really matter what they did to me because I was too high on drugs to care;
and I thought that that was love.
Only because you were never there.
Where were you when my cuts kept getting deeper?
Where were you when I was face to face with the grim reaper?
Why do you only come around when you want to give me another empty promise?
I would respect you more if you were just honest.
Thanks for the talk.
Can't wait to hear from you in another year.
Don't waste your breath.
I wont be here.

I am so proud and overwhelmed that my poem about depression got so much attention and touched so many people.
All my life all I have wanted to do is share my story and inspire others. I never thought that a poem I wrote during a low day while I was at school would reach so many people. I would of been happy if only one person took away something from that because the words I said were true.
I appreciate any constructive criticism that was given and all of the kind words that were said. Thank you for making me feel less alone.

Hello my friend,
You have been gone for too long.
A hug that was once so warm and comforting has left me hollow and cold.
You have latched yourself back onto me.
Your grip is so strong.
I do not want you here.
So, please, please be gone.
I cannot hold onto you the way I once did.
You are so toxic to me.
It's getting hard to breathe.
I will not let you control my life,
not like you did before.
You do not own me.
Get out of my head.
This temple I have built.
I am stronger now.
I will not be filled with guilt.
You are a small part of my life,
you are not my world.
I refuse to let myself drown
in the darkness that you are.
I will come back on top  
and you can watch from afar.
One day I will be strong enough to not fall back into your arms.

You can have everything you've ever wanted and still want to end your own life.
That is not beautiful.
How do you build a life for yourself when all you've ever known is darkness?
How do you make yourself happy when it's so comforting being sad?
That is not beautiful.
You decide when you're fifteen years old that it doesn't matter if you succeed in school because you wont live until you're eighteen.
You based your entire adult life on the chance that one day you are going to succeed at killing yourself.
That is going to be the one thing you're successful at.
That is not beautiful.
Having to explain why there are deep scars on your body is not beautiful.
Having the people you love and care about visit you in the hospital and seeing the sad and tired looks on their face is not beautiful.
It's sad, and it's awful, and it's exhausting.
It hurts. It ******* hurts.

She is a monster in the back of my head.
Every bite of food fills me with dread.
“Don’t eat that, you’re already so fat.”
“0 calories a day will make your stomach flat.”
She comes to me in my dreams,
So sickly, so thin.
Her name is Ana.
She is the demon within.
She will pretend to be your friend
Just to get inside your head;
And she will hold on tight.
She will cover you in darkness.
She will mock you out of spite.
She does not forgive.
She does not forget.
Letting her in will be your biggest regret.