Musings on Life from a Dead Girl

Like Me

I always hear stories about sad people that have somebody to live for
People who try to end it and have friends who rush to the hospital crying
People who crave marks on their skin only to be discovered by a lover
They kiss the pain away and say they are beautiful
People like that, people that get better, not worse as time goes on, have a story that's easier to tell.
It gives you hope.
But what about the people like me?
The ones with no friends, whose families legitimately feel they are a burden.
The people whose thighs and wrists are sore with no lover to draw stars around their scars
What about the people who want to die and can't find a reason to live
The people right now convincing themselves not to go and buy an extra bottle of Advil
People like me who know they won't be missed
Only alive out of habit and sheer instinct
My story my sad hopeless story does not get told because it isn't pretty
People like me hide in the dark while their families laugh in the other room