twenty five.

do I have the right to be depressed?
because I see all these people who have been bullied, abused, etc.
and I haven't experienced any of that.
I'm depressed about nothing.
I should be grateful.
this is just me complaining about a life that so many others would kill to have.

and every time I'm vocal about my problems or my desire to die, it never ends well.
everyone thinks I'm saying "kms" for attention.
is it for attention?
I guess, in a way it is.
maybe deep down I want somebody to help me.
to let me know I'm not alone.
or to save me from this pit I'm falling into.

I'm going to stop being vocal about my problems.
I won't tell anyone anymore.
there's no point.
no one believes me.
there's only pity and annoyance.
and heaping my problems onto other people doesn't make the problem go away.
it just makes other people worry.
they have their own problems.
and sometimes they don't care.
sometimes they ignore it.
there's no point.

nobody reads this anymore so it's okay.

I wish I could help you.
I know exactly what you're going through and yet I can't do anything because I don't know how.
please don't kill yourself.
it'll really suck and I'll miss you a lot.
I don't know how to make you see that you're not too negative.
that you're not at fault for anything.
that you shouldn't hate yourself for things you can't even help doing.

see, I know all these things.
but I can't apply it to myself.

I looked in the mirror today.
I think I am too fat.
I know I'm not.
but my thighs are too big and my stomach is always rounded.
so I'm going to skip breakfast and dinner.
I know this is not healthy.
I know that I will probably not lose weight like this.
but I will still do it.
the more messed up I am, the more chance I will take myself seriously.

even I have started to doubt myself.
I'm not sure if I really have depression because I've never been bullied or abused.
and anxiety too.

I stopped cutting and I don't get any urges to anymore.
does that mean I'm not depressed?
no one will take me seriously if I don't cut or try to kill myself.
I have a job that involves talking to people and I can kind of go outside without anxiety kicking in.
I talk to people on the phone too for my job.
does that mean I don't have anxiety either?
I'm not always shaking.
and I'm not extremely shy.
am I faking it?

what if I started to cut again?
where would I cut?
it's starting to get colder so I can probably slit my wrists without anyone seeing.
but what if I get bloodstains on the sleeves?
if I do little cuts it'll probably be okay.

anyway.
I will put all my thoughts here.
so it will not bother anyone.
and I will not be as much of a terrible person as I was before.

twenty four.

hey.

how are you?

we haven't talked in a while.

well, not properly, anyway.

recently, I've stopped.

thinking.

crying.

about you.

it's for the best, right?

after all,

things change.

feelings fade.

the more I meddle with your life,

the worse it gets.

and you don't deserve that.

I doubt I'm still anything to you.

except somebody you used to know.

maybe you even hate me.

but that's fine.

it was bound to happen.

I'm not sad.

at least, I don't think so.

maybe somewhere in the back of my mind,

I'm still hoping for things to go back.

to how they used to be.

so what am I living for now?

hope. I lived off it.

the hope you gave me used to be everything.

you were everything.

maybe you still are.

even now, I'm still stupidly hoping.

why did I put you up on a pedestal?

I know you hate this side of me.

I hoped that...maybe you wouldn't.

but you're like everyone else.

so why did I care so much?

this mind of mine won't get me anywhere.

no matter where I go,

no matter who I meet,

everyone will be the same.

so what's the point of living?

I don't really know.

I don't think there's any point,

since everyone hates me so much.

I wonder how long I'll live.

twenty three.

I don't know anymore.

fuck
not this again
it's like we've just met

I tried so hard not to care
but I can't deny that I do

why can't you just tell me
imagination is deadly
especially when it's reality

shit shit shit
I can't give you anything
this is what I deserve
I care so fucking much
I tried so hard
in the end
I just
fuck

what's wrong with me
you weren't mine to begin with
now I know why
that promise went unmade
you were hoping for something better

I'm hopeless
stumbling after you
just wanting for you to look back
take my hand and smile
like you used to

no one sees you the way I do
and maybe that's a good thing
because it hurts
(and maybe I like you too much)

"I miss you too"
that's all I wanted to hear.

twenty two. (theories and sob stories)

when she was ten, she had a best friend.
when she was eleven, she did not.
when she was twelve, everything fell apart.
when she was thirteen, she found hope.
when she was fourteen, she lost it.
when she is fifteen, she will end it.

sometimes she thinks there may be a sixteen.
or a seventeen.
maybe even an eighteen.
sometimes she feels like there will be no fifteen at all.
and she'll be fourteen forever.

she hides.
behind many masks.
she does not know who she really is.
she cannot see the light.
the mask covers all.
the others see.
they tell her she is beautiful.
but they only see the mask.

she hopes.
for understanding.
desperate wishes.
for the person she loves the most
to accept what is underneath.
but he already rejects the mask.
she is scared.
it will happen again.
ten.
eleven.
twelve.
thirteen.
fourteen.

she hates.
herself.
the entity underneath.
breathing air she does not deserve.
receiving love she is unworthy of.
everything she says
is disgusting.
everything she does
is despicable.

she is selfish and strange.
dependent on love.
but she does not know how to give it back.
she is useless.
she does not know how to comfort.
she does not know how to make somebody happy.

she does not want him to leave.
she will cry.
she will scream.
she will beg.
her mask will fall away.
but it is inevitable.
she is already losing him.
she has already lost him before.

she knows.
a mask is a lie.
he despises lies.
he despises her.
but he cannot stand her without a mask.

a single word can make her smile.
a single word can make her sad.
he does not realise how important he is to her.
she can only hope that she is important to him too.
but she knows that she is not.

she cries.

twenty one.

you're disgusting.

you did it.
you're a "good" person.
how does it feel? being l0ved?
you're so proud of yourself, aren't you?

but you know what?
you're still disgusting.

someone like you should kill themselves.
honestly

you're despicable
dependent on a thing called l0ve
it's something you'll never return
and it's something you'll never deserve

poor little girl
was never given
any l0ve
so you have to give me
all of yours

poor little girl
doesn't even know
how to l0ve
so you can't expect any
of it back

you've got them right where you want
you've got all the excuses
"I have depression"
"I'm broken"
"I'm not okay"
it's all about you

just kill yourself already.
you make me sick.

twenty.

you ran away.
but you'll always come back to this.

you hate mirrors
they show you what you don't want to see

so thin.
but you need to be thinner
so you can waste away
stop
existing.

hair falls across your face.
good
that way you don't have to see how ugly it is
and the bags beneath your sunken eyes
from crying crying crying
all the time.
(grow up)

in the darkness you can't see
but you can feel them
you remember
slashing
crying
hating
and when you stopped
you lay there
arms outstretched
wondering what they would say
wondering if they knew how much those words hurt
and wondering how you became their words.

how much longer until they see what you see?

someone broken
someone screaming

lashing out
hurting
pushing everyone away
("you're like a constantly ticking bomb. I never know when you're going to explode. It scares me, ***. You scare me.")
taking their pain
no one deserves to be hurt
except you
you're already broken

I'll hurt you
and in the end
you'll hate me
and if you won't




I'll make you hate me