sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀɪᴇs [eng]

poetry - "saving"

i don't think anyone could imagine the pain i carry inside of me,
the pain i take with me everywhere i go.

sitting alone and just wanting to disappear, the constant thought of wanting to die.
i've wanted to die for so long, for 5 years constantly, i've always thought 'i won't make it past 18' - because i was certain, that at some point, i will just die.
whether it be a traffic accident or me committing suicide, some way of dying was always possible.

yet god never decided to take me in.
instead, he ignored all my prayers and just let me live through hell.

god never helped me, all these words of the church, the priest or the bible, nothing of it ever helped me.

instead, i didn't get help from anyone.
adults, who knew about my situation and health, just by looking at me, all of them just put extreme value on my career that i keep ruining.
apparently, it's all my fault.
nobody blames it on the people who surrounded me, nobody blames the parents,  nobody blames society, it's always your own fucking fault.

feeling sick, mentally or physically, nobody gives a damn, but god damn it, i do.
i definitely do.

just because i am not as strong enough as other people who pushed through worse things, but god damn it, i am so done with it.

the strong me that everyone knew was never real,
it was always a brick wall that i kept up, all because society made me feel less worthy for being valuable.

my family, corrupted within itself, everyone is an actor, we all play our roles to represent a certain model in our society, it's not just me who lashed out.

my sibling too.
my sibling is just suffering as much as i am, and god forgive us for lying constantly to ourself, to our parents, to our friends and our society, which made us feel worthless.

we're probably not the only ones who grew up this way, i know, for a fact, that i am not alone with my suffering, yet i am all alone and just by myself, pushing through because there certainly is someone who needs me --
my cat.

my dearest ball of floof.
who will cuddle you, who will feed you, who will worry about your wounds after fights, who will brush your fur in summer - who will, if not me?

hell.
all i've ever lived in, the place i started calling home when i turned 12, god forgive me for feeling home in a place of sinners, but what am i, if not a sinner, dear god, could you please give me a sign?
just once, god damn it, just once,
i wanted to believe,
find comfort,
love.

i wanted to be loved, with all my flaws,
i didn't want love for my perfectionism,
i am nothing but a wreck of emotions.

hell.
my home. my safe haven. my rightful place.

"if you're going through hell,
why would you stop walking?"

you see, hell became a place, where i felt comfort,
the constant numbness, pain and the burning passion of breaking stuff, even if you break yourself.
the burning passion, god, the most painful burns caused by a self-created fire which keeps growing,
hurting yourself was comfortable.

but what happens if you feel comfortable in such a place?
it creates hate.
hate within yourself, hate within the hearts of others.
it creates guilt.
guilt within others who didn't realize, but why what would they see, if not your facade, your brick wall you kept building to keep yourself and other safe?

"tear down this wall."
easier said than done.
i rather write this painful stuff down, keep it to myself, hang it onto the in-side of the walls that keep me safe to remind myself of what i have done and what i am doing.

if you think there is limit to how much pain and hate you can feel, believe me when i say i surpassed this limit.

this limit, given by society who tries to keep you going with their empty promises, their empty hands that offer not a single sign of help;
getting help is considered bad.

because there's not a single thing you can do by yourself if you can't even keep up your health.

showers, brushing teeth, freshly washed clothes, cleaned up room, school, grade, relationships of any sorts, if you can't do these things by yourself, you're a failure.

and it will be written all over your forehead,
all over your achievements --
people will treat you like you're thin air.

people.
people who start treating you differently as soon as they get to know your past and your present being.

glass.
they treat you like glass, as if you're so fragile that one simple word will break you and tear you apart into a million bits,
but what is the point of treating me like glass, so fragile,
when all i am are
millions of shards?
a broken mirror?

a broken mirror, that still reflects the parts of me, but behind all those pieces is still the demon within me, a demon that society created,
a demon i can't get rid of.

i am the demon, embodied into the wrong body of a human being and that's why i feel comfortable in hell.

demons belong into hell,
that's why god never took me in.

i am doomed to live my life like this forver.