I want to tell my family.
I want to tell them what I'm going through.
I want them to see the tears running down my face, and know they are real.
I want them to hear my sobs and know they are real.
Last night I was crying in my bed.
I was sobbing.
I was hitting myself. Over. And over again.
I dragged my nails over my skin. Over. And over again.
I wanted to die.
I had only felt it that clearly once before, months ago.
I wanted to go to them, and for them to hear my words and get me help.
I wanted them to walk into my room and ask why I was crying.
I want to die. Is what I would've told them.
I need help. Is what I would've told them.
But when I heard them coming to my room, I stilled my tears, wiped my face, and tucked my head beneath my pillow.
Once they left, the whole thing resumed once again.
