you were struggling.
struggling to be happy.
it hurt me to watch your fire burn out from a distance.
so i tried everything to make you smile, even if it meant giving up my own.
i poured whatever little happiness left in my cold heart into yours.
but it meant nothing at all. because there just wasn't enough joy in me.
and in the end, you followed in my footsteps.
refusing to eat, throwing up food, slicing at your skin.
so yes, i do think it was my fault. i do think others have a right to blame me. i do think i should've never talked to you.
Confession:
Since I've started taking my antidepressants (and my parents increased my dosage by 10 mg. (which still isn't enough to stop me from cutting)), I've honestly been feeling a lot better. But I hate it, because they're taking away my sadness instead of letting me cope with it. They took away the razors and scalpel I hid as well. And they even locked up the knives and pills. I knew I should've veen more careful about my suicide plans...
