I’m always in a constant battle between sitting back and letting things happen and making things happen. How do I know which? What if I wait too long? Or rush things and wreck them. I guess you could say I’m scared of failing. Failure is one of my biggest fears. Not just because of the failure itself but what follows. The sadness, frustration, disappointment. It always hits me hard. Like the cold air when getting out of bed in winter. It engulfs me. Its thin arms wrap themselves around me but I feel no comfort. It whispers in my ear. Failure. Disappointment. Useless. Each word a stab in the heart with a poisoned knife that then intoxicates my thoughts with hate. Hate of the worst kind. Self-hate. I feel anger. I want to destroy everything around me so it looks as ruined as my mind. I feel sadness. I want to cry but to cry is to be weak so the tears stay inside making me want to explode. I want to run into someone’s arms and cry IM NOT OKAY! I want them to hold me and tell me I’m worth the breaths I struggle to take. I want them to tell me to stay. But I also want to be alone. Left with only my music for company. Because to tell them how I feel is to burden them. I don’t want their pity. Or their judgemental eyes. So it’s safer to be alone right? No one can hurt you when you’re alone. But I didn’t realise that I could hurt myself too. I was surprised by the damage I could do. To myself. Maybe I’m not meant to be saved. Maybe I’m meant to be alone. But I hate it. I hate who I’ve become. The little girl in those photos downstairs died. But no one noticed that a skeleton took her place. I’m the skeleton. And to that little girl, I’m sorry, you deserved so much better.
