I want to scream.

no,
I need to scream.

Because crying can only get you so far
in the destruction of yourself
that after a couple hours,
it seems pointless.

I want to put a blade to my thighs
and cut.
I want to find a bottle
and drink.
I want to buy a gun
and point the barrel to the roof of my stupid mouth

and pull the trigger.

Some may call me impulsive,
some may call me an attention seeker
- as many I know have -
but I'm really just desperate.
That's all.
I'm just desperate for a release from the hell that I've created
that is spiralling way out of my control,
and has been for ten years of my short life.

I wouldn't care if I died tomorrow.
I really wouldn't.
Because I know that if I did,
my family would have one less thing to cry over at dinner time.

And, yes,
I know that they would cry at first,
but then they'd move on with their lives,
onto things that actually make them happy;

My mum could get home from work and not have to deal with my mood swings, making her cry.
And my sister would be able to focus on her talents without the burden of her little sister there, constantly holding her back and messing her up.
And my dad, would be able to stop pretending to be OK when I shut down his attempts at making me smile, which makes him depressed.

I can see what I'm doing,
and I want to scream.

I need to scream,
because if I don't,

I don't know how to stop this hell.