when will you realize that the red, uniform lines stained on my sheets arent the result of a ****** nose arent because of un-bandaged scratches but from your words your actions your inflicted pain your refusal to accept your ****** parenting your ignorance of my pain of my depression of my anxiety of my sexuality of the way i feel as i see myself in a mirror and think what am i who am i why am i like this when i pray to the gods i dont believe in asking pleading begging for some comfort to know that im not a mistake that im not worthless that im not unloved that im not hopeless although i feel like it although i feel like ill never make it although i feel like nothing will ever get better and that im destined to be the one who brings about my own downfall to be the one at the trigger to be the one holding the knife to be the one who tied the noose to be the one who opened the pills the poison i pick is the feeling of nothingness this is my future this is what i spend my time pondering while cleaning the blood from my thighs while washing the broken glass that cuts my skin while splashing water on my face while brushing away the tears while practicing how to smile in the mirror while rehearsing my lines while pretending im fine, dont worry about me while trying to seem like im always here im always happy im always feeling but you wouldnt know that would you
It's been about a year since I posted this. To anyone who feels similar to how I felt, keep going. Even if things don't improve, you owe it to yourself. Anything is better than ending your life or harming yourself.