Why am I so sad all the time?
It creeps up on me at the strangest times.
I could be just sitting in bed,
and then two minutes later I’m posed with the razor at my wrist.
It comes on me like a creature in the night;
I never see it approach, but as soon as I feel it,
I think “How could it have been anything else?”
I never know why it happens when it does,
I only ever know when I’m in the middle of the storm.
Except the storm is only raging in my head.
It’s so hard to ask for a life preserver when no one can see you’re drowning.
I try so hard to be a normal one.
Somehow, it always shines through the cracks,
then everyone gets to see the madness within me.
They all say I need help,
but I need them to hear that the voices screaming in my head are their own.
I don’t think any of them truly understand
what it’s like having voices yell the most heinous things at me all day.
But the worst part isn’t what the voices say,
those are my own words anyway,
no the worst part it that the voices are those of my should-be champions;
my best friends, my sisters, my brother, my father, and my mother.
Their imaginary words cut deeper than the blades
because I always wonder if these are the things they think about me in their own heads.
Do they think that I’m as fat as they tell me in my head?
Do they see every flaw in my face as I do?
Do they really disregard me as useless as I know I am?
Do they want me dead like I do?