You have to move
Please, you need to get up.
You're dirty
You're tired
You're losing yourself
Get up
Please get up
Don't do this to yourself
Move!
Just move! What's wrong with you? Why can't you move?! Why can't you get up?! WHY CAN'T YOU BE NORMAL?!
BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL.
BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL.
BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL.
Get up.
Oh, God, why can't I move?
Why can't I think straight?
Why are my limbs so heavy, I thought that eating less would help that?
Why are my eyes so tired, I've been doing nothing but sleeping?
Why does my skin crawl? I'm not dirty.
Why are my fingers bleeding, I only bite them sometimes.
Why does my back hurt? I don't ever use it.
Why?..
WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY.
I got up today.
I fought with my family, and found a shard of glass.
It was in the hallway, for whatever reason.
Nothing was broken.
Why was it there? I don't know.
I picked it up, it was calling to me, clearly.
I took it back to my room.
My dirty room.
Yes, I crawled into my bed.
I didn't cry. I watched the glass glisten in the little bit of light, that shone through my bedroom window.
I didn't want to use it yet. It was still pure, I would wait until I had to.
Until I needed it.
NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT.
NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT.
NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT. NEED IT.
One
Two..
Eight
Ten..
Seventeen..
Thirty six..
Watch the blood bead out from your pale, skinny arms. Add more, why don't you.
You deserve this. You are not special.
You're nothing, in fact.
You're so pathetic you can't even clean your own room.
You can't even muster up the strength to smile anymore.. weak.
One hundred..
Look at that, you've got no more room on your arms.
How about we move to the legs?
The stomach..
The chest..
Everywhere.
EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE.
I'm looking up at my dark ceiling, focusing on my aching arms. They're beginning to scab up, and I'm fighting the urge to break them back open. I hear my family outside of my room, I wonder if they're worried for me. I wonder if they care.
They don't.
I force myself to look over at the clock on my nightstand. I squint my dull eyes at it.
Seven fifty three p.m.
Huh, I'm surprised it isn't later.
My head falls back into position and I'm looking back up at my ceiling, my breathing is shallow and I begin to think about death.
What comes after it? What should I expect and, am I too young to experience it?
Possibly not. I suppose that, it wouldn't make much of a difference if I was gone. The world would still be spinning. People would still be living their lives, the ones who don't know me, won't care.
The ones that do, will get over it.
GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT.
GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT.
GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT. GET OVER IT.
Death is a social construct. Death happens all the time, everywhere around the world.
Natural causes, murder, accidents, suicide.
It makes sense; suicide that is. Who would want to stay in this world, people who love it, secretly hate it. People who hate it, are correct. So why is it so important that I don't die? Why can't I participate in the sweet silence that death brings? People have their own lives. People don't care that much, and if they say that they do then they're lying.
Humans lie all the time.
They will get over me, I'm not that important y'know. I'm not a celebrity, I'm not pretty and I'm not a man so why would they care? Because they LOVE me?-- Yeah right. That's horseshit. They love themselves, and if I'm not here, then who will they vent to? Who will they cry on? Who will they talk to? Who'll be their friend?
It's not like I'm their only friend.
They have others. More important, longer term. Just because I'm one of them, doesn't mean I'm the most important. It doesn't mean that they'd love me the same way, or be there for me in the same way as the others. I'm temporary. Like rain in the desert, or warmth in the Arctic. I am not forever. I'm not important, I do not make the world go 'round and I don't make a lasting impact on other people's lives because,
I. AM. NOTHING.
What can you say to prove me wrong? Nothing. Because I'm right. You will move on.
You'll move on when I stop talking to you online.
You'll move on when I'm not there during the holidays.
You'll move on when you no longer celebrate my birthday.
You'll move on when I'm not there to hold your hand, soon you won't need it.
You'll move on when I'm no longer in your bed, cuddling or wrapping my aching arms around you.
You'll move on when you can't hear me.
See me.
Feel me.
You'll move on.
You'll find someone else, someone special.
Someone who You'll love no matter what, because it's not me. It will never be me.
So, don't be upset. Don't cry, my love, I am not worth the tears.
When I'm gone, look for me.
I'll be in the air.
I'll be in the sea.
I'll be in butterflies, the orange ones.
I'll be in the coffee cup you hold in the morning.
Or the tea.
I'll be in the trees of the forest.
I'll be in your tears, but there's no need to cry.
I'm not worth it, I don't matter. You will find someone else.
