Things have never been easy,
and I have never been one to talk about that.
But I can flip the switch,
a few sparks and a puff of smoke,
and shut down everything
from the inside out.
I can refuse to feel.
And it’s easier that way.

Things have never been painless,
and I have always liked it that way.
(Or so I thought.)
I have four scars to show,
all that’s left from four years
of cutting
and burning
forcing adrenaline to replace
whatever shutdown couldn’t delete.
And it’s less painful that way.

But I am painfully sorry.

Please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt anyone.
You, especially.
You were the only thing I would miss.
I can’t believe I almost gave you up.
I am selfish. I am cynical.
I am hateful. I am unpleasant.
I am busted, broken, bleeding,
bold and brazen and burned and belligerent
medicated and molded and morphed
and Christ, does anyone know ******* how hard it is
to keep going
to pick up where you left off
when you told yourself
told everyone,
that you were quitting?
When you'd finally dug a hole deep enough to bury yourself in
and they tell you you have to dust yourself off
and climb out
and keep marching?
Does anyone see how ******* difficult it is to smile at them
when you had already accepted the fact
that you’d never see them again?
I chose it for myself
for a ******* reason. And now I’m back
and they think something’s changed?
The solution to my problems
is not as simple as 100 milligrams
of a white pill called happiness.
Maybe this is a chemical imbalance,
maybe my mind is dysfunctional,
or maybe it was meant to be.
But nobody let me choose.

I am sorry. I’m being selfish again.

If you still want me,
after everything I’ve done
to my parents
to my friends
to myself
to you
Whatever is left of me
is yours.
If you still want me.