Thoughts…

I’m not sure if I really want to die.
I think about it. Killing myself, I mean. It’s not healthy. I know that, but I still do it. I hurt myself, even though the logical part of me says, “Stop!”. That part of me tells me to get help, to talk to someone. But, the other parts of me, the scared, lonely, and tired parts of me, they say not to. That it’s better that they don’t know.
I don’t want to hurt the people I care about by showing them all the messed up screws in me.
I don’t want them to see all of my dark thoughts and feelings.
I don’t want them to judge my scars and who I am.
I just want…honestly, I don’t even know anymore. Once I would’ve said love. Or happiness. But those things never last. So, I’m not sure what I want. I’m not sure how I feel.
All that I know is that I’m so…tired. I’m tired of getting up each morning and dragging myself through life. I’m tired of disappointing myself, of fighting for useless things, of trying to be someone I’m not. I’m just tired of living.
I don’t think I want to die. Not yet, at least. There are so many things I want to see, to feel, to experience, to know. I want to see the world.
But…I’m not sure I can take much more. I know my life hasn’t been bad. I’ve got a dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless. I’ve got a place I can call home. I have friends that make life seem okay. I’m not really bullied. I go to a decent school and I make good grades. I have a future.
I should be happy.
So, why am I not?