I'm living, but not alive.
I'm dying, but not dead.
We all have insecurities, deep feelings that come from our insides and show through the out.
Every time I look at myself in the bathroom mirror can't help myself from crying. From just letting my eyes bawl out and pound like drums. The point where I can't take it anymore. To the point when mother knocks on the door, asking to use it, but we both know she's asking for her turn.
I can't conceal myself anymore, the fact that my life just keeps getting more and more miserable day and night. When I can't look at little Charlie's face and wonder how he will grow up without a father and a mother who has become deaf with love and society. I wanted to stand by his side, right next to him, but I don't have the courage to anymore. I will have to walk back limping and hurt.
I've heard it loud and clear from thousands of therapists who've tried to help me but fail. Don't think too much. What if I told them that's all I can even think about. Broken lies...that my life will soon to ever be perfect again...
My life is a constant battle between life and death. At times I can't take it and wanna let go of the ropes pulling me up. I want to shred them into little pieces and die in peace. Darkness is the place where I feel most home. The silent sanctuary where I feel like I can stay quiet and motionless. Immobilized in one position until I have to go.
YOU ARE READING
Story behind the cuts
Teen FictionOnce all the people left and the lights were off, I cried or in other words we cried. My bad luck and I. We cried till morning when my eyes and her became weak and we disappeared. We disappeared into deep, deep rest. The type of rest that is scorchi...
