trigger warning: suicidal thoughts
***** is where my name has been censored out.
so i’m looking at posts about depression. even though i’m not even sure that’s what this is. and my tumblr gives me a list of crisis hotlines and asks if i’m all right. and it’s really fucking late at night. and i tell my stomach not to jump and dismiss the whole thing without even reading it. and i hate the way it feels to wonder if there’s a file somewhere with my name on it. i’m so scared of being flagged as broken and yet it’s all i’ve ever wanted. this isn’t a good time to tell stories, but i need to tell you that when i was six, i stopped eating lunch at school partially because it made me self-conscious and partially because i wanted to die and back then i thought skipping a meal equaled starvation. obviously, it didn’t. i wanted to die because i was different. i wanted to die because no one loved me for what i was and i felt trapped and numb and drifting it’s just then i didn’t realize it and my skin was a prison. or maybe i wanted attention. maybe i wanted to be loved and accepted and noticed and isn’t that all anyone ever has wanted and how is that something anyone can ever refer to that as selfish don’t you get it? all i fucking wanted was to not hear my mind whispering at me how i am so, so broken. i didn’t ask for this, and i don’t want to be the kid alone in the hallway again. i don’t want to feel like i did something wrong because i’m sitting in the office to see a speech pathologist getting tested for mental illness, and i’m yours to control so here’s my chest because no one else gets it and i want to die sometimes and i’ll always be different, and no one will ever want you if you’re different. and why do i always have to be so different? why does this have to be such a big deal? and why can’t i just knock it off? why can’t i stop writing angsty poems? stop writing angsty poems the way you write angsty poems. *****, no one cares, and no is going to listen. there’s no future in this. no one wants you the way you are. you’re so goddamn dramatic. just get the fuck over it. don’t feel like a tree being cut down, a door being pounded open. don’t hate the fog as it swallows you, and it feels like you become it. you realize normal people are miserable? you realize your feelings don’t really matter? you realize you’re just an atom and any difference you make can blinked away you are insignificant you are not real just don’t speak up you’ll only make you hate yourself and then they’ll notice you and then they’ll control you and then they’ll take your home from you and then they’ll take your thoughts from you and then you won’t be you and then i’ll own you and then you’ll probably kill yourself like you almost did then you are walking a tightrope and someday you’ll fall and why don’t you get it? i am shouting my pain out, but at the same time i am smothering it.
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