What the heck is wrong with me?
Why do I feel so helpless?
I can't stand being
Weak and vulnerable
In front of people.

I was raised with the mindset
That receiving help was weak.
That asking for it was weak.
No one wants to look bad.
You see,
I was told to look up
But no one realizes that
The whole time,
I was looking down.

I feel so distant from everyone.
So far away from everything.
It's like I just don't belong
Wherever I am, wherever I go.
Even when I'm surrounded
By people, good people too,
I feel like a ghost.
I'm there, but not there.

I feel so lost.
I try to open up,
But sooner than later,
I regret talking in the first place.
It's like I let a little
Piece of me out.
My thoughts and feelings
Out there in the open.
Then pass one or two weeks,  
And it's like it never happened.
It's like no one really cares.
Am I a fool for trusting people?  

Maybe it's just selfishness.
Maybe I think too much of myself.
Maybe it's all my fault.
I'm starting to think that
It really is.
Is it too late to cry?
Is it too late to restart?
No, I can't redo what’s done.
I can't cry.

Why am I doing this?
Why is this happening to me?
What is wrong with me?
It's gotta be fate, right?
Or is it destiny?
Regardless, maybe,
This is the end of me.

I don't even know if
Anyone is going to see this.
Or even hear me out.
You know, it's unpredictable.
Not like it really matters anyways.
It seems like no one
Wants to listen;
Everyone just wants to talk.

People tell me that
They know me.
But how can they,
If I don't even know myself?
Who am I?

What can I tell you?
For the past four years,
I've been struggling with
Anxiety and depression,
Abuse and regret,
Suicide and self-harm.
But I'm not a victim.
I'm not a fighter.
Not anymore.
I'm tired of fighting.
I can’t…
I can’t do this anymore.
I'm struggling
And there's no one nearby
That's willing to pick me up.
I'm dying, and
People just stand around.
They smile and laugh,
And I can't relate.
It hurts.
I can't stand it anymore.

Ha.
It's true.
People look at me and
They move on.
They don't care.
They're just there for the party.
The pity party,
Where they sympathize and
Carry on like nothing is wrong.
It's as if they're all in first place,
Looking down at me in last place.

They don't see me.
They're all too busy.
They're all too preoccupied.
And I don't blame them.
You see,
My purpose isn't about me.
It never has been.
It's about them.
Because if I can't save myself,
Then I'll have to save others.
I’ll have to save the world.