16 & ready to die

When I pray, I pray for death. The scars on my arm cry for recognition. Recognition of a cause, recognition of a solution. They draw attention, but never a consolidation. One would have to care to consolidate. They never cared about me or my pain. The pain that draws me from sleep, the pain that crushes my soul. The pain of never knowing a real family. A family to call my own. A family who’s veins run with the same blood . A family begot from love and trust. I never knew a family. I never knew a mother. I never knew a father. She’s was too deep in the bottle; he too deep in himself. They each tried to create two different families, each including me, cleaving me between each. I was encouraged to participate in “family” dinners, vacations, and bonding. I’ve known several families, I’ve known several mothers and fathers, I’ve never known my own. I never associated myself with these makeshift families, as they offered me no acceptance. How could you accept a child who never knew acceptance and was afraid to accept acceptance, as it may disappear, leaving the child feeling more unaccepted, hurt, and alone. How many families will I come to know? How many woman will that man I live with drive away. How many times will I be blamed for his own inability to love? That man that distorts my self image with words of selfishness. What is reflection? What is jealously? What is not acknowledging a paternal duty. A duty to love and support regardless the circumstance. What is a perfect child? What is LOVABLE. How many men will that woman, the woman of so many personalities, kill. I understand her personalities, because I’ve come to posses them. Ive come to posses her sadness. I’ve come to posses the toxic ideal of suicide as she so much contemplated and attempted to pursue. It’s him. An egotistical father and husband. How could one survive with a selfless mentality? A mentality of giving, for he would take. And I’ve come to adopt his character trait. I’ve also become to hate myself. I see him within myself. Hating the very thing that drove me insane– hating who I’ve become. How much death can I withstand? I’ve become intrigued by death. Death; the nothingness that divides the living from the nonexistent. Death, what I pray for. I pray for nothing, because there is nothing to pray to. I will receive what I have asked. The blood, the tears, the vomit. The images of self demoralization engulf my mind, tempting me with the easiest relief of stress. The easiest get away. The easiest drug. Death. It’s become so obtainable. It’s become valuable. It’s become desirable. My mind, it’s in a sick way, but I long for sickness, turmoil. A sister, she saw the cuts. She concerned herself, until I left. The cutting continued, worsening my mindset. Hiding the cuts under the shame which society bestows upon me. She worried, which angered her. Soon, it was forgotten. Soon the cuts got deeper. Soon they left shards of glass. Soon they became unable to heal. Soon they stopped satisfying. Soon I wanted more. I wasn’t the only one who thirsted for the love of a father; a brother saw what I also hadn’t seen. Too self involved to be involved. Young children, crying for love. What will it make us do? Betraying me for a father’s temporary approval. What will he have to do? How far will he go? Lost, betrayed, hurt, how far will the glass cut? Anger.. Anguish.. They’ve become one. Light… Dark.. They’ve merged together, creating a twilight where I coexist. I live for dreams. Dreams, sneaking me away from the screams that fill my ears. Knives seem to be the only solution. Knives never cut deep enough. My dreams bring me somewhere away from sadness. They bring me memories of love. Memories of what could have been. Memories of what should have been. The devil sleeps on the clouds within my dream, bringing me the nightmare of reality. The dream is never long enough. The dream is never vivid enough. Dreams remind me that there’s something more. Something more to the life I’ve pursued. Something more to the sadness that’s enveloped my life. My dreams give me hope, but they also allow for realization. Realization of my reality. The deceiving lie I’ve been taught to live. A lie; making things worse or seemingly better. Always lies. I’ve never heard the truth. Each story have glimpses of validity, contradict one another. stories about me, my identity, my experiences have faded. They gradually became lies. My life is a lie. I am a lie. Everything I’ve become… Everything I’ve ever worked for–a lie. As for trust? It is a lie as well. The human condition is reliance. What is there to rely upon? As there is constant disappointment. Self sufficiency is a resolve. Self sufficient: being sufficient without air, particles, atoms? What shall I be? Nothing in nothingness. All my theories allude to nothingness- death. Death. I will never be satisfied. I will always want more. I will always be sad. I will always long for a way out. I will always long for Death.