7:11pm, sophomore year,
how fucking depressing is it? the only time you feel a connection with someone is not even with a someone- but a something. holding onto dear life, my oversized stuffed animal pushing the tears out of me, overflow.
how fucking depressing is it? sitting in class- staring at my stomach. gaining so much fucking weight that i promised i would lose...maybe this is why i'm forever going to stay single? lard.
im a sick deteriorating flesh, no human left. what fucking illness is this? so damaged that my therapist neglected meeting me for three weeks, so disgusting that the scale went up- i failed myself, i failed you, im sorry. im so fucking useless that not even my friends care about me. i sit in the front of the classroom- eyes staring at me. and yet i can't leave yet...it's too painful if i make my move.
the pain of carrying me for nine months hurts more than giving me a therapy session, the pain of giving me a c- on a half-assed assignent hurts more than the self-inflicted shaving scars, the taste of high school lunch nachos staining my esophagus as it leaves my system. down the drain.
god loves everyone but not me. god- why have you forsaken me? are you a republican that hates immigrants and that's why you're trying to pull every little bit of me apart? are you trying to strip every little bit of me until there's nothing left? strip. me. down.
and one day i pray that i'll disappear, and you won't need to suffer anymore.
YOU ARE READING
shoes on powerlines
Dla nastolatkówthis is the literature of my high school career. the most sorrowful & meaningless nature of my earth. the novel about nine in the morning english class, the story of the starving lunchtime and the greatest anxiety of gym class. this is the entrance...
