Inside My Mind

Red

Why does it have to be me?

I've tried so hard to be a good, loyal person. Every time - every single fucking time - I'm the one to get hurt. I try to hurt like a normal person, but I do it all wrong.

Apparently I'm a slut, whore, piece of shit, worthless, bitch, trash, horrible, disappointment, disgrace, lazy, helpless, out of control and so much more. I've been called far worse, but I won't - I can't - get into that.

Is this feeling - this enticing urge - right? I want to die. No. I don't want to. I've never wanted to. I just want to disappear and stop being a problem. It's the same thing, I guess - disappearing and dying. I want to disappear so no one has to deal with me, but all the same, death seems like a better option because then I won't have to come back.

Sleep, that solves my problems. Well, at least I hope it will and wish it would. I can't sleep though. I'm either too paranoid someone will kill me in my sleep - though I wouldn't mind death, I just have my own way of wanting to go - or I honestly can't sleep.

Oh, right. It's my phone. I stay up on my phone, forcing myself awake until the early hours of the morning. That's how insomnia works - I force myself awake. I wouldn't need my phone if it wasn't the only way to talk to my friends. My real friends, by the way.

Honestly, I don't have many friends. Just the few in the United States and United Kingdom. Haha, it's funny to think about that. All my friends live in united places. I used to have friends everywhere, but we've grown so distant, its like we don't even know each other.

It hurts to think I can be that forgotten.

Which brings me to why this is titled "Red". Yes, probably from the moment you saw the title, you knew exactly what it was. The "red" I'm talking about is metallic and beautiful. It stains the skin in the most brilliant ways. The smell is so erotic and the taste is bittersweet.

Oh, and the tool used to mine this red liquid gold is just as metallic and beautiful. It's an instrument of pleasure for few who use it. It graces its victim with pain, yet pleasure. It makes tears flow and red gold pour out.

I've never liked the red gold, it seemed too perfect and beautiful. Everyone needs it to survive, but I can't stand it. The pain doesn't last long. Not like it used to. Now, it's just a few deep swipes and the pain last nearly five to ten minutes, at the most.

It's sad. I never asked to be like this. I never wanted to do these things. I never thought I'd end up being fully alone in my room with only a beautiful metal tool and red liquid gold to keep me company.

Haha, even my dog leaves me. Now that's really sad. I can't even keep the attention of a pet, much less a simple conversation with a human. People don't even ask if I bleed anymore. They just assume I'm getting better and I am! I'm getting better at hiding things - like my feelings, thoughts, urges.

My friends need me more suddenly. I won't deny them the help, I'd never even think about that. It's hard though, always being the one everyone runs to. I care, maybe too much sometimes. I've been hurt before and everything was fine, but this time it's different and I can't understand why.

I remember when I was just eleven, barely old enough to be considered as someone with depression or anxiety. I remember being in my room after a fight with my grandmother. She was - no, still is - my everything. Unconsciously, she taught me how to mask my emotions. Because of that, I tried to hurt myself for the first time.

Haha, I just realized some of you will hate on me. Ask me why I do this, why I say this, why express this if I'm really depressed. Most will be disgusted with me because who would tell about hurting themselves? Why tell the world?

Well, my answer is: fuck you, I do this so people know that I'm not okay. I don't hide my scars because what's the point? If you actually gave a fuck, you wouldn't call me disgusting, you'd try to help. I'm just an embarrassment, so fuck it. If you don't care, then I won't care.

Now, I'm laying in bed, thinking about everything I just wrote over the past twenty minutes. It doesn't faze me anymore, the name calling, the disappointing looks, the "I'm sorry I can't help" masks everyone puts on, the fake concern for my life. Most are secretly cheering me on so they won't have to deal with me.

It's one in the morning.

I've never been okay. I can't take much more of this. As bad as it sounds, I want that red liquid gold to flow so fast and hard from the rivers it comes from. I want to smell it's erotic smell and taste it's bittersweetness. I don't want to die, no - I simply want to disappear and if I were to die, I wouldn't mind it one bit.

What's wrong with me? How can I say and do these things without concern for myself? I wish I knew the answer to that question because it would make it a hell of a lot easier to understand myself.

I don't understand myself, so why do people think they know me so well? I don't belong here. I don't want to be here. I'm a fucked up mess with no future at all. What's the point in me being alive anymore? All I do is mess things up. I hate when people assume things, it hurts. I wish I could just die.

Why am I like this?

~M. A.