I Secretly Long To Die

I’m so fucked up. Sometimes i have so many contradicting and confusing thoughts i feel they might explode like kernels of popcorn inside my head. I have so many questions and thoughts and feelings that i don’t know how to verbalise them and yet if i don’t try it becomes unbearable. I think people don’t want to believe that there are other people experiencing what they are, i mean we all say we that we don’t want to be alone or misunderstood but i think deep down that’s exactly what we want, because that exact moment were reminded of just how many people in the world feel exactly how we do, our problems are belittled. They feel so overwhelming to us yet how could they be if so many functioning people are feeling the same way? Do you want to hear my problem? Does anyone really give a fuck? You don’t know who i am, if i killed myself tomorrow you wouldn’t even know it! And yet i have this feeling that if i don’t write this i might disappear. Here is the simple truth… I despise myself. I cant bare to look at myself. I lay on the ground pulling at my hair and screaming my thoughts away. I am not a nice person. I am not a survivor. I am less than a dirty speck in this messed up world. I hold no value to the existence of anything which begs me the question why bother having an existence? Why bother wasting the oxygen on earth? Why bother taking up room? In fact my very presence may be a hindrance.
I know this is pathetic… some might wonder why I’m whining, like my problems mean anything. Well they do, to the people who know me, the people who love me. I know this, im not ignorant to the fact that if i killed myself it would pain those around me, which is why i stay silent… for them. See the bubbly girl with the wide smile? Thats me… dosn’t change what i am inside.