When I haven't wanted to **** myself in a while
And then suddenly the feeling returns
It's like I cannot breath
And
I cannot see
All that is here is me
and death
Death and me

The cruelty of the world overrides my mind
How can people spread so much hate
And the fear that nothing gets better in time
Makes me want to pull the plug
Or take those pills and chug
A bottle of liquor until I'm blue
And I feel nothing
See nothing
Am
Nothing.

When my mind enters this state
Do not tell me to calm down
Do not give me your "good-intentioned" advice
Because your solutions don't work on the severely depressed
Severely fake I guess
Since most won't acknowledge its destructive force
And refuse to believe it's a disease

Because, y'know, it's all in my head.
Don't you know I just want attention?
Because, of course, I don't totally want to **** myself sometimes.
See, I just take the medication I didn't believe in for fun
Because if I just smile and look on the bright side
Everything will be fine right?

No.
*******.
In this cycle
If I forget my medication
even just one day
One.
*******.
Day.
I have to fight myself to survive the next
Because the medication actually works this time
Because my depression is a medical condition
Not just some silly game you try to play it off as.

Id wish you to walk in my shoes for a day
But I couldn't wish that on anyone
Because on those days
Like today
I can't eat
Too much sleep would never be enough
And death sings out
A beautiful song to me
Begging me to come home
And
One day
I might listen.
And then you'll pretend to care
As if you really know me
But you don't, it's a game,
so don't bother
With your ******* shame

Is it really possible for me,
to be what they want to see?
Though I've never done it before its there, the urge
it sit still as stone until violently it screams, "just purge".
The smell off food cooking is like poison yet i eat
and eat
and eat
until all I've done for an hour and a half is eat.
my skin quivers and crawls,
no escape from these four walls.
This house is like a prison cell,
all you can hear is the ringing of a bell,
though logically you no its silent,
but silence is most definitely violent.
And so the struggle begins again
to avoid that horrid gain.

Have I gone mad?
Probably.
Is it normal to converse with one's self?
Probably not.
Oh... well that's just too bad.
People don't know what they're missing out on.
Exactly; trust no one.
Not even yourself...
I must bottle it up inside.
Yes. I must.
But it will tear me apart.
It will tear me apart.
But it's what must be done.
It's what must be done.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

They call me schizophrenic
And say I talk to things that aren't there.
But they have been there since I can remember.
They talk to me and I listen.
But sometimes I wish they would just go away.

They call me pyro
And say I set fires for fun.
But it is a fascination with the beauty.
The colors and the movement are mesmerizing.
But that kind of beauty can be hard to control.

It's not my fault that I'm like this.
Ignorance isn't always bliss.
I'm okay. I promise. I swear.
I'm not crazy, don't you care?
Trapped inside this padded cell.
Living in this white-walled hell.

They call me cutter
And say I slice away my problems.
But it is the emotions that it releases.
I imagine the flowing blood is my anger and hurt.
But those feelings come back and the scars don't fade.

They call me bipolar
And say I can't control my emotions.
But it's not my fault.
My mind changes them to extremes and I freak out.
If I could stay in control I would.

It's not my fault that I'm like this.
Ignorance isn't always bliss.
I'm okay. I promise. I swear.
I'm not crazy, don't you care?
Trapped inside this padded cell.
Living in this white-walled hell.

They call me sadist
And say I find joy in peoples' pain.
But it is the high that I get
From the hurt and humiliation
That makes me crave it.

They call me psychotic
And say I have "lost touch" with reality.
But my reality seems real to me.
I am forced to live in the "real" world
When I liked mine much better.

It's not my fault that I'm like this.
Ignorance isn't always bliss.
I'm okay. I promise. I swear.
I'm not crazy, don't you care?
Trapped inside this padded cell.
Living in this white-walled hell.

They call us troubled
And try to treat us with tests and machines.
They all want to "fix" us and make us better.
They just want us to be the way society wants.
But that's not who we are...

As she sat on the floor, back hunched against the door thought I am not made for the world anymore. As she took out her pen and began to write words, she vomited heartache, things destroying her soul. As she cried over photos of her loved and her lost, she lit them on fire all memories tossed. With a look around her room and a black stare so cold, she quietly whispered "I want to go home". Brushed her hair softly back for the world to see..the anguish, the pain, and agony. Gripping the polished wood of her chair, she stared into the darkness saying goodbyes to despair. A life full of emptiness with no sun in sight, she felt to be free she'd exchange her own life. And as she calmly and firmly tied the rope so secure,with her neck firmly choked, feet dangling from the floor, she decided that life wasn't worth it anymore.

I lie here, broken,
Or so it seems.
My life half over
Unraveled seams
The dreams I had
For you, for me
Hypocrisy, hypocrisy
Like shadows flee
Among the light
My dreams remain
Just out of sight
Night after night
I lie awake
And wonder
Which wrong path I've taken
Awaken, bleary eyed
And tired
****, I'm late again
Got fired
All in search of dreams

~J Nc
9-15

It hurt. It hurt looking at him hurting. Hurting himself,  screaming at the top of his lungs. It all hurt. Knowing that there was nothing anyone could do, nothing I could do to make it all stop. To stop the screams, the hits, everything. All you could do is hope that it would end before he got hurt even worse. It was like watching someone drive themselves insane, except he was already insane. He had been mad ever since he was diagnosed with insanity when he was 15 months old. At first he was okay; he didn't do anything to harm himself nor anyone else. He was a calm child growing up, never caused any hardships to the family , but when he turned 8 that’s when it all started. His dementia gradually worked its way up till his 8th birthday and that’s when it all became too much. All the temper tantrums, hurting himself, the screaming, the aggression, everything. All because he was born with this craziness. People call it “severe autism” or a “mental disorder” but I prefer to call it insanity. Because that’s what it is: pure madness. Don’t get me wrong; there are times when hes the perfect little angel, but there are other times where he would turn into the devil himself.