Posted at 2:54 AM 0 comments (+)

There are good days and there are bad days, and then there is the in-between.

On good days, things go my way. People don't make me upset. I don't have to think so much about why things are the way they are. On good days, I don't have to think about anything. I let everything slide.

On other days, things go well generally. Some people piss me off, some things don't go according to plan, but not quite enough to make my day totally bad. I think a little about some things, but I don't dwell on them. I'm good at distracting myself for the most part, and I'd give myself credit for that.

On the really bad days.....I think about dying. I think about what lies ahead and what's the purpose of it all, of this all. I think about all the unhappiness, every memory of when I was hurt, and ask myself why. I think about the different ways of dying, I think about doing it on that day when I get home. I think about whether I should cut and let myself slowly bleed out, or I should turn on the gas when nobody's home and die more peacefully. I think about whether people are going to cry, if it would hurt them very much if I did go, if it would actually make any difference. And then the tears wouldn't stop coming.

On the really bad days, I can't bring myself to talk properly to people, to pretend. I can't laugh, or look people in the eyes because I'm trying so hard blinking and looking up so I wouldn't actually cry. I don't want them to think there's something wrong, I don't want to explain anything. They wouldn't really get it.

People keep telling me things aren't really so bad, but what do they know? I'm the one in the situation, and it hurts all the same. People keep telling me things are going to get better and I just have to wait it out, but I have waited for years and I don't know how long more I can keep waiting.

I hate it when people who hurt me are being nice to me. It makes me forget about wanting revenge, it makes me forget that I'm supposed to hate them. Just one, nicely spoken, well-meaning sentence to me, and they would've bought me back. I can't keep hating them no matter how much I vowed to myself to never forget how broken I feel on some nights, when I'm convulsing after crying too hard, when my head aches so bad from me trying to hold tears in and not making a sound, and my heart hurts like it would explode in my chest, and I have nothing. Absolutely nothing but my blanket, and the pink towel I use to wipe my tears with. I really don't bother with tissues anymore.

I don't like it when I feel like this. Sometimes I feel like one of these days something might really compel me into doing something radical. Either bleeding out or just sleeping into death. Leaving a vicious letter behind, letting them know how they have forced me to insanity. Or maybe just a letter of apology. I don't like it because that would mean I've failed at this game of life, and I don't like to fail.

But it's hard. Do you even know?
I may be making a mountain out of a molehill, I'm well aware of how fucking dramatic and bipolar I get most of the time, but I feel what I feel and what am I supposed to do about that? I do feel sad and it hurts and I cry and sometimes I want to call it quits and what am I supposed to do about that? You can't tell me I don't have the right to feel the way I feel.

It's tiring.

Mostly because there is nothing ahead. There is no one beside (who really understands, wouldn't try to tell me things aren't that bad or that it would get better, and one who would actually respond within maybe 5 minutes). I am living for nothing. I don't care to live for myself.

I get frustrated because I realised that I can't blame anything on anyone and I just have to blame it on someone to feel better.

I feel really tired going to work some days because I'm forced to make cheerful conversation, smile and nod at the right times. I can't keep quiet and just drown myself in my music because I just don't want people asking me what's wrong.

I rant about everything to anyone who would listen, but there are some things I don't say.
These are the things I am afraid about. These are the things my friends would brush me off on if I ever brought it up.

Mostly I am just sorry to my closest friends because I know you girls try and I am grateful but you can't save me from things that hurt me and you can't save me from these thoughts in my mind. You don't even know any of the horrible things I think. I can't hold on to all that you've given me, I can't grab on to the happiness I felt no matter how hard I try. It fades.

I'm not saying I'm never happy. I'm just saying I don't care if I died.