Sep 2020
I feel like I haven’t actually felt what it feels like to be happy in months, maybe a year. No mater what I do, no matter what I realize or figure out about why I am feeling the way I am, the fact of the matter is that this feeling has been here my entire life and its only getting worse as time goes on. I know one day its going to **** me and that makes me so ******* sad because I think somewhere deep inside me I’m still this little kid who thinks I have all of this potential and I can live this great life and be happy. And i really want to listen to that kid and not hurt myself but every other thing around me and inside of me is constantly telling me that nothing is ever going to get better and I wont be able to be that person because there’s something wrong with me, specifically, like I’m built wrong.
And it really doesn’t help that my thoughts are always racing and maybe if they slowed down for a second I would be able to hold onto something that could make it better but I can’t because my head can’t do that, because I’m built wrong.
And its not like I’m this apathetic teenage mess, I really am ******* trying to do all of the things that are supposed to make me better but all it does is keep me distracted, which I recently discovered is different. And it’s not like I have this terrible life or I’m suffering in this immeasurable way, I’m just built wrong.
So what do I do? Jesus, I wish I knew.
I think I used to take some solace in the fact that I was hot, at least by the standards of the occasional catcaller, so maybe the fact that people wanted me made me seem like I had some value in just existing. But now all I can think of every moment of every day is how the fat splurges out below my hips and how my neck looks when I lie down and how the skin puckers around my thighs and how I’m built wrong.
And I think the thing I am most afraid of, the scariest thing in the entire world is that any time I think of the thing I want to do more than anything, that sad little kid voice stops me— and I know that some day, one day down the line, it won’t. Because I’m built wrong.
And it really doesn’t help that my thoughts are always racing and maybe if they slowed down for a second I would be able to hold onto something that could make it better but I can’t because my head can’t do that, because I’m built wrong.
And its not like I’m this apathetic teenage mess, I really am ******* trying to do all of the things that are supposed to make me better but all it does is keep me distracted, which I recently discovered is different. And it’s not like I have this terrible life or I’m suffering in this immeasurable way, I’m just built wrong.
So what do I do? Jesus, I wish I knew.
I think I used to take some solace in the fact that I was hot, at least by the standards of the occasional catcaller, so maybe the fact that people wanted me made me seem like I had some value in just existing. But now all I can think of every moment of every day is how the fat splurges out below my hips and how my neck looks when I lie down and how the skin puckers around my thighs and how I’m built wrong.
And I think the thing I am most afraid of, the scariest thing in the entire world is that any time I think of the thing I want to do more than anything, that sad little kid voice stops me— and I know that some day, one day down the line, it won’t. Because I’m built wrong.
This is easily the worst poem I've ever written but I never talk about how much I want to die so here it is <3
