Without the one person who

Showed me unconditional love...

It's almost like a sort of euphoria,

But also a relaxer,

A reliever.

A sharp sting

That calms everything else,

Rebellious,

In a way,

So freeing

And against the grain,

A relief,

A relaxer,

Manically,

I crave it

And yearn it,

Resist it

And fight it,

But, at the end of the day,

I return to it,

Better than any drink,

It fulfills me.

Why,

How,

Is it considered

So bad?

So...

Death cannot come soon enough.

I am bone tired of life.

Everything hurts and nothing is worth it. Nothing is worth this. There is nothing in this life that is worth the pain of living. Survival is self punishment, death must be the only mercy of life. Knowing there is an end is life's only comfort.

I don't know why I'm still here; do I really hate myself this much?

Everything in this life hurts and pains.

I'm tired of faking it all.

None of it matters anyway.

I am not made to survive this life, and I have no desire to keep trying. It's become more of a habit, than anything else, a bad habit I can't stop myself from repeating.

I want to die, if only it was so easy. Like flipping a switch, I'd love to go to sleep knowing I will never wake up again.

I don't know why I do anything anymore. Everything is exhausting, I have no more strength in me. I just need to find the nerve to finally end it all, to give myself the final mercy.

None of it matters. I don't matter. The only way I've lived this long is by faking it, faking it all, and I'm tired of it. I'm so, so tired of it all. By pretending I don't exist, that none of this has actually happened, that it's not real because it just can't be. And for what? The neverending cycle? It won't seem to end and what am I even spinning my wheels for? Wasting my energy on?

Life is a bitch, and disassociation is the shield.

So much time, wasted, pleasing others against my will. Barely staying afloat in every way in this hateful world only to never have the time, energy, money to do more than survive, to do what I love.

Even if I feel happiness at any moment, never once have those small moments outweighed the bad, the hurt, the pain. Never once has it made anything else worth it.

Being alone is so much safer, even if I'm forced to feel everything. People make everything worse. It's tried and true and I'm tired of it.

It's all about the expectation, about fitting into everyone else's narrative. I am not here for your entertainment.

Alone, I can be myself. I don't worry about perception, the fear of judgement and cruelty, I can let my face relax and be peaceful with myself. I am not on guard, not on edge, not in defense mode. I can just be. No one to complain. No acting like I'm okay. No worries that someone will poke at me. Tell me I'm not right, that my reactions, though so carefully calculated, still don't fit. Everyone wants something else, everything is a test.

I'm so tired of it all.

I hate pretending.

There's no point to it- to any of it.

No one cares about each other at all.

They want to be treated like the main character, though they never have regard for anyone else. Other people are people too. Get over yourselves.

It's endless. I hate it.

I don't want to be here; I don't even belong here.

People in this world are cold, selfish, and superficial. Even just trying to stay alive and pay the rent- for who knows what godforsaken reason when none of it is even worth it- it all balances on how well you fit into each person's narrow perception.

All they care about is their own narrative. They don't see, and they don't care, how they treat other people, but if you don't respond to them exactly how they expect you to (and they all expect something different) then they'll act like everything you did was wrong. You could do everything right, but being different will be enough to penalize you.

People need to fuck off and realize other people exist. Not everything in some stranger's life is about your individual perspective. As long as someone isn't being nasty and rude, what the fuck do you care? Leave people alone. I would think we all have lives and can at least do that much. Instead, they have nothing better to do than to judge and complain about every little godamn thing.

I can't wait for the human race to die off. This poor world never deserved to have us here, fucking it all up.

Nothing even matters, yet we all have to deal with all this shit, and every single day, people find a way to make it worse.

This is addiction.

This is my truest addiction,

Even holding it brings me relief,

Letting me know there is relief,

The sharpness wakes me up,

In a way

That nothing else can

Everything else that hurts,

Can be resolved,

At least temporarily,

Through this,

Through the piercing of my skin,

The pain

Can be let out

At least a bit

Through my blood.

I must be so fucking broken,

Coincides-

So young,

So old,

Where has the time gone?

Will I ever again

Ever a time

When I didn't have scars?

I wore tank tops in public,

Without scars to hide,

Who was that?

It breaks you in ways you didn't know it could,

Nothing will ever be the same,

Nothing has ever been the same,

Nothing is real,

Nothing feels real,

Everything pauses,

Everything becomes a memory,

A reminder.

Grief feels selfish,

Especially as a suicidal.

There's before and after,

But before will never feel tangible again.

Who were you before this pain?

All the pain seems to pile up on each other

But did you ever really feel grief before this?

Is any of this real?

Are you?

Always been broken,

Grief and trauma and lack of will

Chip away at you, always have

Always will

But this one,

This one broke you in ways you didn't think you could break.

What ifs have never felt deeper,

Possibilities and alternatives

Pervade you in so many ways,

Will seems to seep out of you,

If it was very there to leave anyway

Everything is a reminder,

And all you can do

Is float away

Float away from yourself

Your past

This reality

And you don't know who you are,

Who you were,

If you ever really were someone.

Nothing could prepare you,

Not anything.

Everything was lost at once.

Your past,

Your reality,

Your self.

The decisions you made,

In the raw awakening of a new kind of grief,

Was that really you?

It doesn't feel like it,

But,

Who else

Could it

That is there,

That cares,

To have a father

That doesn't make you wish

That you had a father.

To have a father,

That doesn't call you loser

When you want to kill yourself,

That's doesn't complain about your pain,

That doesn't doubt you.

To have a father,

That doesn't ask

Why you can't handle it,

That doesn't ask,

Why can't you just be happy

When you call me?

What's it like,

To have a father?

A father that's there,

A father that cares,

A father that does everything a father should,

And nothing he shouldn't.

A father

Who has never made you afraid,

Who has never made you feel alone,

What's a father like?

What's it like,

To have a father?

A father that doesn't rebuke you,

Doesn't scold you just for existing?

A father who apologizes,

Who listens,

Who admits fault,

Does such a father exist?

I wouldn't know.

It's all fictional to me

My father is always right

He doesn't believe in anything,

But that he is always right

And I am always wrong.

So much effort to create me,

So little to sustain me,

Once born,

From the second I was born,

I regretted it,

And so did they,

But how dare I?

They did it all right,

I was the one who was all wrong.

Why even birth me

Only to neglect me?

I got their fucked up genetics,

I'm the one who pays for it,

Mentally and physically,

So why is my pain so doubted?

The pain they caused me,

Intentionally and unintentionally,

Regardless,

I was meant to be their responsibility,

Not them mine.

What are parents, if not pain?

If not your first bully?

If not the baggage thrust upon you since birth?

What am I?

If not the afterthought,

So easily become the inconvenience?

Was I their responsibility,

Or were they mine?

Was I their burden,

Or were they mine?

Aren't parents supposed to care for their children?

Or do I have it all mixed up?

Are they every scar on my skin,

Or is that all me?

Yet every time I cut,

It seems to lead back to,

To stem back to,

To them.

If our roots are what shape us,

No wonder I'm so fucked up.

I was never properly cared for,

And self harm became my sole caretaker,

My sole outlet,

The one thing I can rely on,

When they'd penalize me

For every emotion

A child,

A human,

Could possibly have.

I was only meant to be a convenience

To them,

And I can't shake

The inexplicable

The unavoidable

Fear of being anything but.

Why was I ever even born?

Only to be unwelcome,

And unloved?

What was the point,

All people care about

Are the open wounds,

The immediate blood,

Not caring that scars

Never stop hurting

And itching,

And leave an everlasting mark.

No matter how much time passes,

Can't show the hurt,

Must keep powering through,

But if you mention it,

Even once,

Well you seem fine enough most of the time,

It's all pain,

Painful,

Physical and mental,

Mental and emotional.

It's neverending,

All aggravating each other.

Too young to feel pain,

Too old to react to pain,

When are we allowed

To be in pain?

To feel the pain,

I just want to scream

Scream about the unfairness,

Scream endlessly of the pain within,

Why can't I get a break?

Why can't any of us?

We're all human,

We all go through things,

Yet the most important thing seems to be

That life "must go on"

Bills have to be paid,

Rent and work, an endless cycle,

Strong enough to make it through,

Yet I'm not, but I do

I don't want to,

I hate it here.

I hate it all.

I'm drowning in an endless river,

Barely keeping up with the tide of life,

Why is this the life we must lead?

Surgery and pain,

Sexism and assault,

Harassment and neglect,

Devoid eyes that can't see past their own judgement,

It's all pointless,

Idlesness rests within us,

As we power through

Regret, numbness?

Moving on without processing,

No recognition,

Dismissal, even from yourself, of what you went through,

Cause you made it through,

Didn't you?

Yet, in reality,

You never fully or really processed,

You never fully lived through it,

never finished living through it,

So you end up trapped in this continous cycle,

that you survived,

but don't know how,

you're still there,

but, simultaneously,

it feels like it never really happened.

What is strength

If not making it through?

Pushing past it,

No matter how much you can't even fathom it.

Are any of us really that strong,

Or is detachment just that powerful?

Do others really feel proud at their survival,

Or is it all a mask

A fake it till you make it,

Because you don't know what else to do

But to make it through.

At the end of the day,

None of it means anything,

It's all a big tragedy,

That everyone is happy to pretend

That it all matters not in the grand scheme,

Just a blip in your life

That you made it through,

But did you,

What can I see?

What can I feel?

I feel like a fucking lunatic,

Always this foreboding

And ominous feeling,

Maybe it's the anxiety,

Or the OCD,

But I seem to known

What will go wrong,

What will never go right,

What will happen,

And what cannot.

Have I always know

How it will go?

Have I already seen?

In my dreams,

Then de ja vu,

I've already lived this,

Why am I surprised

When I always knew

It would go this way?

Innate senses,

Again and again,

I've already felt this,