Three years.
Three years of hell.
Three years of being turned on by people I trusted.
Three years of crying for help.
Three years of no one helping me.
Three years of no life.
Three years of depression.
Three years of getting scars that will stay with me forever.
Three years of pain.
Three years of everyone hating me.
Two years since then.
Two years of friends.
Two years of scars.
Two years of happiness.
One month of depression.
One month of indescribable pain.
One month of thinking I’m bipolar.
One month of having to act normal.
One month of hiding my feelings.
One month of  pretending to be happy.
5 comments
Three words that accompany you and I: Pain, depression, and insanity.
Two reasons you sould keep trying: love and potential.
One a lifetime of possibility left for you.
One action to accomplish: death
One action not to: death. Death is always a shame, no matter who dies. Whenever someone dies, another person cries. This is one of the things keeping me alive.
Yeah they say “life’s a b!tch and they we die.” In my experience, they were right about the first part. What a relief death will be.
I’m done with this. The scars will always remain. I can’t take it anymore. Goodbye.