In The Dark

Where does it end and I begin?

No matter what I do it's never enough for them to stay.

No matter what I do, they all run away.

My sister never loved me.

And Who I am is not who they wanted me to be.

I walk around with a mask on,

And pretend like I don't want to be gone.

I pretend like I don't constantly think about ending it all.

Like overdosing on a bottle of pills or jumping off a wall.

It doesn't matter how much I try to convince myself to be okay.

It doesn't matter if I stay.

You all pretend as if you'd care if I went.

Maybe it'd be better if I was heaven sent.

But I was sent from the depths of hell.

To feel the pain that's inside my body that's now a shell.

I pretend as if I don't slice my skin.

I pretend as if I never let the darkness win.

But I am only what the depression lets me be.

I am no one, a person without a hobby.

So I write stories all alone.

About thinking about when I slip into the unknown.

I try to think about who would care.

And who'd walk away after seeing me there.

I know the ones that would cry.

But sometimes I even think that's a lie.

People who I thought were real, were the fakes.

And the ones I didn't trust, it was a mistake.

I try to fix this broken person inside.

But i can't keep trying to hide.

Nothing's working to keep it at bay.

Nothing's working to keep my tears away.

The thoughts are creeping back in.

They never left to begin with.

I lied when you asked if I still heard them rattling in my head.

But they still yell and scream different ways for me to be dead.

And I listen and I take notes.

Maybe one day I'll need them and no it's not a joke.

Friends don't care to ask about my life.

They don't see the person I hide.

I hide the person that cries in the shower.

I hide the person that could get stuck in my thoughts for hours.

Drowning in scenarios that would kill most.

Thinking about what I'd do when I'm a ghost.

I keep everything to myself.

Even when I'm dying and need help.

I keep everything inside,

And I will till the day I die.

I can feel it's coming up fast.

Not many days will pass.

I feel everything bubbling up.

Until it all erupts.

My brain is corrupted, it can't be saved and that I know for a fact.

It's not much longer that I can keep up this act.

I've kept it up for so long I can't tell what's real.

I just know that I no longer want to feel.

I don't know who I'm going to be or who I am.

Am I depression or a scam?

I don't know how I'm supposed to be.

How can I tell if it's the depression or me?

No matter what I do, it's never enough.

They don't see what I've been scared of.

Depression is like my second skin.

I can't tell where it ends and I begin.

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Not much to say about this one, I think it speaks for itself. 

Until next time. 

Love, Caitlin