What you don't know about me.
Sometimes don't you wish your heart could stop beating so you don't have to feel anything anymore? So the little things don't hurt, and the words won't sting? What's the point of having something that will just be broken beyond repair? So broken and shattered that you can't be normal anymore. That you lost yourself in the process of holding in whatever is thrown at you.
You hold in so much, that you feel like you're gonna implode from the sheer amount of emotional pain you're in. And the fact that you can't do anything about makes it so much more worst, and adds hopelessness on top of hate, lost, heartache, pain, and emptiness.
I feel like this everyday of my life, and I scream so loud but no one is there to hear me. The tears I cry go unwiped, and everyday I die a little more inside. I try my hardest to go on without caring, but it's so hard when you know you care too much for your own good.
I've done some pretty stupid things and even though maybe the reasons I have for doing them are valid, they can't be excused.
I've ran away from home to get away from the shit I have to go through every single minute, of every single hour, of every single day.
And I came back after taking a razor to the wrists and cutting too deep to keep going unnoticed. Wasn't the first time, won't be the last.
I've made myself throw up because I know how fat I am, and I don't need my own mother telling me what a fatass I am.
I've smoked before and relized it wasn't for me, and instead put out the cigarrette on my arm. The scar is almost too pale to notice.
I've drank a bit too much and said some things that ruined friendships, relationships and more.
I know I've done some stupid shit, and the sad thing is, is that all anyone cares about is how it reflects on themselves. No one cares about the damage done on my spirit, soul, heart, and mind.
No one cares that my mother only wants me in her life so I can babysit my brother so she can go out with her friends.
No one cares about why I wear long sleeves all year round now.
No one cares that sometimes I go to school with red eyes and dark circles under them.
No one even cares that I lost the will to live so long ago, if the world ended right now, I would gladly welcome it with open arms.
I keep so many things inside that no one knows the real me. No one knows the girl behind the shield of fake smiles, witty sarcasm, and hyperactivty fueled by an abundance of much needed red bull.
I keep it carefully hidden so that I don't have any attachments. I don't need any pity or sympathy. If anything, someone pretending like they know what I'm going through makes it so much more worst.
I mean, all that you might say would be "That's life."
I'm not posting this for you guys to feel sorry for me. I'm posting this because I need to feel like someone out there is reading this, is reading the words that I don't know how to say out loud. That fact alone helps to ease my mind.
You hold in so much, that you feel like you're gonna implode from the sheer amount of emotional pain you're in. And the fact that you can't do anything about makes it so much more worst, and adds hopelessness on top of hate, lost, heartache, pain, and emptiness.
I feel like this everyday of my life, and I scream so loud but no one is there to hear me. The tears I cry go unwiped, and everyday I die a little more inside. I try my hardest to go on without caring, but it's so hard when you know you care too much for your own good.
I've done some pretty stupid things and even though maybe the reasons I have for doing them are valid, they can't be excused.
I've ran away from home to get away from the shit I have to go through every single minute, of every single hour, of every single day.
And I came back after taking a razor to the wrists and cutting too deep to keep going unnoticed. Wasn't the first time, won't be the last.
I've made myself throw up because I know how fat I am, and I don't need my own mother telling me what a fatass I am.
I've smoked before and relized it wasn't for me, and instead put out the cigarrette on my arm. The scar is almost too pale to notice.
I've drank a bit too much and said some things that ruined friendships, relationships and more.
I know I've done some stupid shit, and the sad thing is, is that all anyone cares about is how it reflects on themselves. No one cares about the damage done on my spirit, soul, heart, and mind.
No one cares that my mother only wants me in her life so I can babysit my brother so she can go out with her friends.
No one cares about why I wear long sleeves all year round now.
No one cares that sometimes I go to school with red eyes and dark circles under them.
No one even cares that I lost the will to live so long ago, if the world ended right now, I would gladly welcome it with open arms.
I keep so many things inside that no one knows the real me. No one knows the girl behind the shield of fake smiles, witty sarcasm, and hyperactivty fueled by an abundance of much needed red bull.
I keep it carefully hidden so that I don't have any attachments. I don't need any pity or sympathy. If anything, someone pretending like they know what I'm going through makes it so much more worst.
I mean, all that you might say would be "That's life."
I'm not posting this for you guys to feel sorry for me. I'm posting this because I need to feel like someone out there is reading this, is reading the words that I don't know how to say out loud. That fact alone helps to ease my mind.