To Feel

I'm Sorry I Exist

I'm terribly sorry that I exist in this world. I know I'm better off dead, yet I'm constantly told that I need to be alive. To anyone who actually has an interest in me, I'm sorry. I'm sorry because I know I've let everyone down. I know I let my overwhelming mind get the best of me, resulting in things that can never be forgotten. I'm slipping into old habits again, but I never plan on telling anyone. I don't want the attention on me, even if that's what's really needed somedays. Anxiety attacks have invited themselves back into my chest, causing intense trembles and overflowing tears. I've let myself not consume anything, only because I shouldn't force myself to stomach something when I know I can't. Sharp shards of metal have become my best friends and seen more parts of my body than anyone else. They hide well under parts that are always hidden and can be hidden. I'm not hurting myself because at the end I'll always be one to blame. I'm to blame for the scars. I'm to blame for what happens when no one else is around. I'm to blame for what happens when my mother leaves the room. I'm to blame for just staying alive. I'm sorry. I've disappointed everyone, and I accept that. I may never please someone to full potential. There always going to see me unveal apart to them they've never seen and run away. I guess I have to learn to be okay with that. I can't and won't force anyone to stay, no matter how badly their leaving will affect me. I'm okay with that because if I wasn't I would be stuck in the same place and I couldn't bare to go through that. As for now, blood is still pumping through my veins. That pleases some, others not. I agree with the others most of the time.