I am starting to shut myself from the world, from my family, from my friends, from God, and even from myself. I don't think I fit into anywhere here. I don't think there is someone that understands me, that there is someone the same as me, someone that is lost, and someone who was left with nothing to hold on to. Why do I have to be me? It's so damn hard to be born me. I feel like my existence was cut, that I am a useless piece of trash that is left in nowhere and was not able to be disposed. More like a rotten and ugly fruit that is living with the most expensive jewels.
No one ever asked how I feel, no one ever know how life had pained me already. Nobody had ever cared how I do, how I feel, or even ask if I'm still okay. It's hard when people think you're invincible. When there is a strong wall around me but is depreciating as time goes by. And behind that wall is a crying pained young maiden that never really knew a thing about invincibility.
I do not cry on petty things, but a sharp tongue and rough words from someone you thought that loves you to eternity is a weapon that my wall can never resist. I thought I was loved, I thought I was precious; I thought I was understood but all of it were just thoughts that are easily washed by millions of daggering pain I have inside.
In my state, I don't think killing me would be a great idea. Although I feel like I'm so broken and shattered by these obstacles, suicide would never be enough. I'll continue to live with these pains I have, with the pain no one ever knew, with the pain that no one will understand, with the pain nothing will ease. There is no more solution for all of these, but I would still want to feel more, because it's the only thing that never really left me.
People give me pain, my family give me pain, my friends give me pain, the world give me pain, Pain is the only companion I have, and I don't think death can tear us apart. It's the only thing I have; it's the only thing that life can better offer me.
I always cry to myself that "It hurts," but no one ever heard me, no one listens. I am in the floor lying down thinking what wrong I have made to suffer from all these, and then I realize I WAS THE WRONG. I NEVER DID ANYTHING WRONG BECAUSE I AM A WRONG EXISTENCE MYSELF.
No one will ever be happy that I exist, maybe, just maybe, my good purpose of living was done, and I had become a belonging of nothingness, of the dark, of the world that everyone hates.
