I don't want you to search for why,
or how I could have done this at a time in my life
where I was so close to getting out.
The truth is that I will never get out.
I will never live a life where I am not in pain,
or questioning the meaning that I have in others' lives,
not wishing that I could drown in rain,
or questioning the meaning that I have in living out the rest of my life,
not wishing that I could drown.
Truthfully, it makes no difference.
It is like I am in pain but no one is listening.
Everyone chooses to close their ears and tell me, instead,
that it will get better.
I have learned and accepted my life.
I have realized that the rest of my life consists of one under the control
of a mental problem that makes everything feel like the end of the world.
That— every time something goes mildly wrong— I feel like I'm dying.
And when it's worse, I feel like I just might as well do it now.
Nobody can change or save me— no amount of love, or song, or piece of art,
or poem, or person— can help me hang on forever.
People are undependable, which is why, out of all things, it makes sense
why even I couldn't keep me alive.
You should never put your life in someone's hands, and I did—
I put them in my own.
I made myself keep fighting until I felt even the tiniest feeling of
purpose or passion, and I told myself that even the tiniest amount
of happiness was worth it.
But that's not how you would see it in a separate scenario.
You wouldn't tell me to keep myself in a relationship where the other person
only ever gave me the bare minimum, where they only made me happy
one day a week, in that minute where they made me feel worthwhile.
You wouldn't tell me to continue on through all of the feelings of
worthlessness and uselessness and insecurity because, that one small moment
where they make me happy is worth it.
You would tell me to find someone better.
You would tell me I deserve someone better. Then, I would try to find it—
knowing only way too late that I will never find someone that could
possibly give me everything I deserve.
Those people do not exist.
And for me, being alone has never worked quite well.
Because I get in my own head.
I think about all of the things I am not, and how I don't even care to fight
to become them. I just don't care.
I shouldn't have had to fight for this long.
But life seems to disagree. Life seems to keep telling me the battles
will not end, and I think it's the same for everyone.
I just think some people don't want to have to go through it anymore.
I just think some people don't want to not feel alive anymore.
Some people finally are honest with themselves and think, "Why am I doing
this to myself?"
It seems I do to myself what others do to me.
Except it's worse, because I am with me for the rest of
my life, and I can't get away from me.