My mother once asked me what I did while I went up to my room.
My mind was racing with the words, "What I do while I'm in my room, locked away, isolated is I think. I think about all the ways I make you mad. I think about all the times I am called a waste of space, a disappointment and many other names I hear day after day. I think about how many times I think about growing up. I know that if I allow my self to grow older I will more than likely achieve nothing. I will not get a job or a family or be known for my good doings. While I am up in my room, I cry, I slice open my skin and release the voices telling me to cut a bit deeper and let the blood flow a bit longer. The voices screaming at me to end it now so you will no longer have to worry about this disappointment. You have two kids. One of them is not even yours. If I killed myself you would only have one. If I allowed myself to live until it was my turn to be an adult I would be even more of a disappointment than I am now. Your other kid is so much better. She has a job. She has a fiancé and a kid on the way. She has money. I would not have any of that. Little do you know that while you are screaming about the dirty dishes I am screaming at myself to take my life away. I will grow up to be a nothing. Even more than I am right now. I am not going to make you proud. You yell at me now saying you more than likely wasted six thousand dollars for braces. I know that if I grow up I will just make that situation worse. I will not be able to get a job, earn money and maybe even pay you back. If I continue to scream and cry and slit my skin in my room maybe one day it will pay off and I will be dead. If I continue to sit in my room and choke myself to sleep every night maybe one day I won't wake up and you won't have to question the bruises anymore. You won't yell at me. You won't have to worry about your kid. You say I saved your life when I was born but you never saved mine. I was always the one to save people and talk them out of suicide and self harm. I could not do that for myself and you wouldn't do it for me. When you saw my scars you screamed at me for being so stupid and selfish. I'm sorry for wanting to die. I'm sorry for wanting to be a little less of a disappointment. To no longer be a nothing. I'm so sorry mother for wanting to stay out of your way. That's another thing I do in my room. I sit there and while I slit away at my skin I am also doing the act of staying away from you and the entire family so you don't worry about me. I'm so sorry that I want to be one less thing you have to spend money on. Sorry for you wasting that money on me. But think about it. If I die, if I no longer allow myself to wake up in the morning, you won't have to spend that much more money. One less kid to buy for. One less kid. One less disappointment. One less reason to be angry. One less reason to scream. One less nothing."
Instead of saying those words, I simply shake my head, give a sigh, and walk up to my room.
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Rant On
PoetryHey this is just a book full of quotes, poems, and rants. Some may be triggering.