Greetings to whomever is reading this. This is Crup, a silly little pen name I came up with as a 14-year-old. Honestly, things have always been tough, but in the last five years, it became too much to even breathe. I always feel like I am not doing enough and feel too worthless. I feel so overwhelmed that I have struggles with body dysmorphia, and I can't feel physical pain anymore. There was a point where the dark comforted me, luring me into it, wanting to feel light and liberated. But I'm not so sure about anything anymore. I feel lost. It's like I am in an endless maze. Like I'm sinking in quick sand. Forever stuck. I call out for help with my soundless voice. I put on a smile, covering up the constant urge to end it all. Will I ever get the peace that I long for? Will I ever attain the joy that I yearn for? I wonder. Behind this charade is a burning stage on which stand the corpses of a few while holding onto empty smiles. This is the life that I'm surviving. This is the life that I want to yield into the light that scares me, or maybe the darkness that comforts me.
I was hoping for a lost cause, for I am not truly living. For I am a corpse of my seared dreams.
I just wanted to write out how I've been feeling for all these years. I apologize if anyone finds this offensive.
