I'm a different kind of helpless.
I'm not afraid in the dark and I don't have to be saved like a princess.
I'm the kind of helpless that therapists can't handle.
I feel nothing and everything at once.
I can't sleep and because I think so much that I feel like I'm going to scream my fucking soul out to resist relapsing.
And sometimes I sleep the whole day because anything else is just too much.
I'm changing my personality with every second I live.
With every person I meet.
I take over their personality.
Because who tf would like the real me?
I mean I don't even know who I am.
Pathetic misset alarm!
Oh, the voice is back and tells me to cook some crack to make him shut up for a sec.
I'm going on.
I'm trying to stay alive.
But it feels like all my best isn't enough.
I'm trying and trying and falling and breaking and not matter how often I try, I can't fucking cry.
GODDAMN I JUST WANT TO DIE!
Death doesn't want me.
Neither do my parents.
I'm fucked up and alone.
That's how I was born.
It will never change until I'm dead.
"YOU have to change it" my therapist said.
I don't know why this makes me so goddamn mad.
Maybe because they don't seem to understand...
Sometimes I don't get out of my bed, venting to myself instead.
I don't fucking know why I never feel enough.
Ppl tell me it's annoying that I always think they're angry or going to leave me.
And then I look in the mirror and cry, blaming myself for being alive and wonder wtf is wrong with me.
I stare at the scars on my body and feel the urge to cut them open again.
But I'm clean.
I'm clean for everyone I bothered with doing self harm.
I'm not clean because I want it.
And my dad always asks me if I keep being clean but he never asks me how it feels for me.
It feels like a burning fire inside my soul that I'm not allowed to put out.
It keeps burning inside me while they're telling me I should practise some skills but you don't know a fuck how much it kills when you sit in class and feel like dying but your soul is too drained to cry.
It hurts.
I could never describe how much it hurts.
I always call it inner pressure.
The pressure that forces me to keep on being depressed because I actually feel comfortable with my depression.
I'm fucking taking meds but no matter how many, it doesn't help.
I guess I'm helpless.
I guess I'll never be helped.
I don't feel myself.
I'm afraid I'll be ending up standing on a shelf, a rope around my neck.
And it feels like a never ending fight with myself.
