It's ok not to be ok

A bit of Polish music, the guy sings about how he's a zero in life and he can fucking do about it.

Do I identify? Strongly, yes.

"I don't know how to get out of this swamp, I'm lying on the floor and I'm being sucked into the floor

Medication from a psychiatrist, meditation exercises, all about dick bruise,depression long tentacle. "**

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Sometimes I wonder where my problems come from, why I feel so bad?

And then I remember that I'm the problem, because I'm the one who makes the decisions and I'm myself.

I don't have anyone to talk to.

To pour out all the pain and darkness that sits in me.

I'm fucking lonely.

And silence squeaks in my ears.

I'm a good listener.

But no one listened to me.

I love my trippy tatoo. PEACE&LOVE ✌️🍄

*sad poetry *

I prefer bruises.

I prefer internal strokes.

I prefer chronic pain.

Pouring boiling water.

I prefer to forge the skin with skewers, or rip it off in a frenzy with short nails.

I prefer to slap myself.

I shafts from helplessness with my head against the wall.

I BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL!!!!!!!!!!.

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I hit the wall...

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Forehead.

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I have bruises on my hands from blows.

My head is all in hematomas.

My blood rustles in my ears and my eyes swell.

I don't have the balls to cut myself.

I like it when there is no trace and you can not see after me.

It used to work.

My anger at me knows no bounds.

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I wish I had the balls to do it successfully earlier.

Maybe this time it'll work.

I hate myself, I can't even die properly.

One day when I was supposed to act like a fucking normal person. I'm sick of my social maladjustment. I'm too tired of adapting to society. Even pain does not bring relief. Nothing helps, nothing brings peace. And I'm a worse person every day.

I am the one I hate.

I don't deserve mercy. I dare not dream about love, because I don't deserve it. I can only hurt those who are closest to me. As long as these relations are still close. I feel sorry for everyone who has met me. I even feel sorry for myself because I have to live with myself.

Please, let heaven not exist!!!

Because if there is, I'll be stuck with myself forever...

No one has ever noticed that my diata consists of coffee and water.

Only on weekends I have to eat, because someone is constantly hanging around the kitchen and asking if I ate.

I hate weekends.

My only regret is that someone believes in me and tries to help me.

I doubt myself.

There is no help.