idk: A Poetry Collection

idk 14

What I do doesn't matter
It matters to very few people what I say

There are two or three people who when they see me or my name it makes their day

I'm so scared.
I'm scared that when people see my name they will think "ugh this girl again"

I'm terrified that when I tell people about my brain they will no longer look at me the same

I'm petrified that the people I have told get annoyed when I come to them for support

I worry and I worry and I worry and I hate.
I hate myself and my stupid brain for worrying so much.

I hate that I can't just be happy and content with the friends I have.

Instead I worry that they don't really like me and that they fake it and then talk about me behind my back.

I worry that I'm a joke- a laughingstock- a mere doll for people to prod at with their words like needles.

The needles I use for myself too. You see, I reuse the needles and I create new ones.

Why do I think I am not good enough?
Why do I worry so much what other people say about me behind my back?
Why do I bully MYSELF?
Why do I insist that I'm annoying everyone I talk to?
Why do I feel I've offended so many people without trying?
Why am I so self centered when people talk about others that annoy them?
Why do I find myself in the details of said others?
Why? Why?

These are the needles I use to poke and prod.
I hate that I do it and I need to stop.
But that's the thing about pain it's addicting and self abuse is my drug of choice.