Yesterday's Chocolate

I’m not even gonna sugar coat it I’m fucking suicidal

I had a 3.5 when I tried to kill myself. When people ask how you are, you might as well be a terms and conditions page with how much they really care. It’s usually just a pleasantry said to ease conversation and make someone feel good. They really don’t want to know how you are when you’re active and still get out of bed in the morning. Couldn’t care less about your well-being when you’re in the honors program and smile when someone says hello. Unless you carry enough of a dark cloud to keep even the brightest of people away, you’re obviously not worth the answer. I’ve been asked what I have to be depressed about more times than I think I’ve heard my own name. My doctor keeps my chronic illness in check while my roommate makes sure I eat meals. I’ve always had a roof on my head and reliable transportation available to me. It’s too bad then that mental illness is like the ivy growing up buildings both full and empty. Those vines are not picky in what they consume so they can easily wrap their arms around to suffocate an exterior. Lucky for the building it can hide it’s slow decay behind the facade of leaves and moss. I’ve cut my forearm after acing a final before. People joke about suicide while you walk beside them and you hide your response behind a polite smile. “They aren’t struggling with anything, they just want attention” are words I’ve grown sickly accustomed to. I’d sooner swallow battery acid than have someone see the way my skin looks after all these years. The attention brought every time I get an IV is bad enough without the so called “comedy” I hear daily But no one suspects the girl involved in too many activities for her own good She can’t be depressed because she’s still getting out and doing things. I suffer from high functioning anxiety and depression but damn if I don’t make it look good Greek letters and a marching band uniform suit me well and keep me distracted most days. I still answer questions in class and offer anyone help if they ever need it. My niece thinks her aunt is full of sunshine while I’m convinced everyone else barely sees me at all. With a loud voice and obnoxious hair colors to cover self hatred it’s hard to imagine that I’d ever fade into the background But with a grab bag Twitter account and a depressing mix of poetry, it’s even harder to imagine how anyone can’t see it.

Give me a letter. 

me: wow today is gonna be a good day