This is beginning to be too much. The world has been so dark and hopeless for the past year. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I keep telling myself, “You’re fine. Get the fuck out of bed, and live your life.” only to discover that I have no motivation. I tell myself I do, but I don’t. After the stress, the tears, the panic attacks, the breakdowns. I can’t bring myself to admit that I need help. I don’t need help. I just don’t. I can’t bring myself to even talk to people anymore. Everyone thinks I’m mad at them, but ever since I’ve gotten so close, I’m scared. No. Terrified. No one can see me cry, no one can hear me scream. I just wish I had a bullet to put through my skull, but I don’t. Frankly, I’m glad; I really am. I can’t do that to my family; I can’t do that to my friends. After everything they’ve been through, I’d rather suffer. I don’t want to die and realize there’s life after death and be able to see the aftermath, even though they break me more than I break myself. They all think it’s just a phase, that I’m overreacting. They say my life is perfect, that I just want attention. They haven’t heard anything this deep. I question why I keep holding back. I don’t belong here. I’m not loved. They won’t even notice that I’m gone. They haven’t even noticed that I’m already gone; I’m more dead than alive. I’m hanging from a thread that’s breaking slower than I had hoped. It seems to mend itself every once and awhile, like magic.. I’m so frustrated. I want to scream. I can’t take this… I need to go to bed. I hope I never wake up. Please don’t let me wake up..
~shatteredhopes