it never stops does it?
this pain and torture?
IT NEVER STOPS.
you think it is fine then bam!
all is shit once again.
no matter all the good that you have in your life, BAM!
it hits and you suffer and cry and want to die all over again.
although the cry is more of a silent scream.
a silent scream that speaks- I’m not strong enough for this I cannot do this.
I need help but pills numb you and doctors help for a little bit and then are gone like the wind.
do they even care?
do the even see?
the scars that should coat me?
I was only brave enough to do my ankle and an inconspicuous place on my arm
oh, it was the cat of course.
don’t look at me like that.
im telling the truth.
I can’t remember the last time I told the truth.
Isn’t that terrible?
We say we’re fine.
We say we will get better, we will change we will be the person that you want us to be, we can be loved, we can be the person you need although we cannot even help ourselves. we get lost in this abyss.
this abyss of pain and guilt and sorrow.
we turn ourselves drunk and numb to fight the pain that sits in every part of our system
we try and try and try to be normal and to be the best, but every time we end up the worst and the failure and the scum.
it is so hard to be better when your soul says stop! your time is up there is nothing for you here. Let’s go float where no one can dismay us and no one can try to get in our heads.
the call is alluring the call is strong enough to make us drown, cut, and drunken ourselves to oblivion just for a minute away from the pain that is inflicted upon us.
we hate to admit it, because then it’s real. and it is powerful and can eat us alive until we are dust.
dust to dust, why does God want us to live in this painful, awful world? I just want to run. run to a place where I can sit for years and think and help myself out of what has been my life now for so long . the good things come, but then they leave and I feel hollow, awful, and dumb. I push people away until I can get to an in-between in moods.
I wish I was that girl I was a year a ago happy free, and oh wait… still wildly depressed. I am finding it hard to remember a time when I didn’t want to die. The times that I remember when I didn’t were the times that helped shape what I am facing now. I don’t want to get help, because studying to be a helper has taught me… Its all absolute bull guys. once you’re fucked up you’re fucked for life. Doesn’t that absolutely suck. Like what the fuck?
Sylvia Plath knew it and she understood it. She wrote about the pain and she knew that she would never escape her pain. Am I the same? Will I never get better?
The sickest part is, even if I wanted to die I couldn’t possibly do that to the mother and father of one child. One child who has obviously disappointed them again and again.
Even without them knowing…
My dad has been so kind to me and all I’ve done is fuck up again and again and again. I don’t even know how to be better, smarter, prettier anymore.
I love someone.
I love him so much, but he can never understand. And that is painful.
How do you love someone when you’re sick?
I don’t want him to love me. the real me. Because I don’t know who she is and she might very well be evil.
I love him with my whole goddamn everything, and that very well might be exactly why I have to set him free. free to go off and meet someone who can fit into his perfectness.
meet someone who can be strong and intelligent and understand him always.
Not me. I’m fucked up.
I cannot fuck up anyone else. That was a promise I must have made at sometime. Well, I’m making it official now.
I wish I wasn’t fucked up. I wish I was normal. I wish I wasn’t jealous. I wish I had a best friend. Someone that really knew.
Someone that I could tell everything and not just parts of things.
I wish I could tell my parents, but how do you tell people that are broken that you are broken too?
They tried so hard and still are trying to give me a perfect life.
They love me so much and I’ve given them nothing.
I want a baby, just someone I can care for and try to love.
That might actually be one of my only reasons for staying in this imperfect world.
Isn’t that sick?
I want to bring a beautiful innocent child into the world that God forgot. the world that is sickened with chaos to its core. Our world is depressed so why shouldn’t I be.
I still wish I could be drunk all the time. there is something freeing about being drunk and just honest with everything and everyone.
I feel like I could write a book, well like this is currently turning out to be.
I might tell my mom tonight. I’m scared though. She’s depressed too. I just know it.
It will break her little heart even more when I tell her she raised a fucked up little girl.
I don’t want my parents to suffer. I don’t want my boyfriend to suffer. I don’t want my friends to suffer. But ts all such a paradox isn’t it?
If I kill myself… they will suffer. If I live and tell them… they will suffer. I’m astonishingly not selfish enough to kill myself. I can’t leave my mom and dad in that agony. Maybe I’ll just make them hate me?
I just want to run. I want to run back to Paris. I was happy there.
I want to be with Sylvia and God and my Grandma.
I never thought I would live this long, I thought that I would be better by now.
WHY THE FUCK AM I NOT BETTER?
I did everything. I was nice. maybe haha. is anyone really, actually nice?
Honestly, the only reason I attend school is because of my 3 good teachers. They make me angry about the world and people.
I wish I could change things and make things better and be there for my friends and my boyfriend, but the devil lives in me and he may have very well taken over.
I don’t feel as I did in 8th grade. I felt like I wanted to die back them, but there was this difference to it. There was still hope. I wanted to see what high school would be like, despite what the pages of Speak shouted at me.
It scared me, but I wasn’t that scared. My love helps alleviate my fear.
It feels like that too he is tender and caring. How can he love something so broken?
I don’t know what happened in the past and I really don’t have to remember for it to hold me up by the neck and punch me in the stomach again and again.
Sometimes I wish I was a ghost and could float around and do whatever the hell I wanted to.
I’ve always believed in a God. I see him help others. I’ve seen him help me. But I do not deserve his help anymore. I have overstayed my welcome. and now I am the scum of the Earth surrounded by the flowers. I just want to pass through people’s lives leaving good things.
I do not know how much I drank when I wrote this. It was once then again then I needed more and I don’t know if feels good, but mostly because it helps to quiet my brain and transfer the energy into my fast and apparently sober fingers. They type fast, and I stare at the keyboard and word out phrases in my drunken brain. Filled to the brim with sorrow.
No, I don’t have a reason for this pain. I could have everything I wanted. But everything has its thorns and the thorns stick into me one by one.
It gets better… maybe. You can be better. Do not listen to me. You CAN be better. Be better so you can come and save the rest of us.