Confined to the walls of my room Bandana around my neck I try to remember the good things in life I want to stay out of my own head Nothing in life is free Not even the air we breathe It's tainted with diseases But we breathe anyway We endure the screams of alcoholic fathers We cry ourselves to sleep at night We convince ourselves that we're alright And never seek help from others
We are the broken ones We endure our pain and suffering We remember the things worth remembering
We are the depressed ones We see knives as toys We don't know the difference between light and dark
We are hurt, and some of us can't be saved
So my Dad was screaming at me again this morning, and he took away all of my means of communication. Luckily, he forgot my computer, so I can still write (and talk to my Mom, who will save me ASAP).
"I've been doing so well," I type as I slide a thin silver blade down my hipbone. "I'm clean and I've been taking my medication and I've even been running." Blood gathers at the edges, draw swirls in the warmth. Bright blue screen lights up my hopes and my heart does a flip. "Can we talk later? I'm really tired." "Of course! Sorry for keeping you up." It's 3:49 in the ******* afternoon. Remember when you were my best friend and you walked two miles to my house in the middle of the night because I told you I felt alone? Remember when I was out of town for a day and you missed me so bad you bought me cupcakes? Remember when you told me I was the only person you'd ever been in love with? I'm so sorry. I miss you. Please.