Poetic Relapse.

A Little Sad

My days are no longer filled with excitement I've found.

Working 10 hours on my birthday in two days, and the weekend. And the rest of the days in between have become a curse rather a blessing.

The strain this is putting on me is painful, and I understand that this is what adulthood is all about.

But if only I could go back to being but a small child, running into my father's arms at the playground as opposed to running from my responsibilities. Crying because of thunderstorms as opposed to crying because of a panic attack when work gets slammed.

I wish that I was a little less sad than I am. Non-medicated sadness is all that fills my thoughts now. Too afraid to get on the bus some days, too afraid to hold someone's hand,
too afraid,
too afraid,
too afraid.

I wish I was a little more happy, ya know? Just that my whimsical happiness could last more than 1 minute after everyone else goes home and I'm left with my thoughts.

I've because accustomed to staying awake until 2 am most nights because of over thinking.  I am awake that I have work in the morning, mom. I am aware that I have errands to run, dad. I know I'm going to regret it in the morning, mom. I know I'm not going to sleep well, dad.
I know,
I know,
I know.

I'm aware that I should go to a psychiatrist. I am also aware that you don't believe me when I say I want to stop breathing. These scars on my body are not because of you, and they're not for attention.

I had no control over my life except how much pain I physically felt, and that was the one thing I could control, so I made myself hurt to make sure I could still feel something after being emotionally numb for so many years.

You can learn to hate yourself very quickly, and when he tells me he loves me, I won't be able to help but to feel a little sad,

Because he'll love me more than I will.