Alone

I wish I was alone. To have nothing to hold on to. To no longer have a reason to exist. It would be so easy then. To just let the grip my hands have been struggling to hold go. To feel the world’s darkness eat me as a whole. They think it’s a phase, that it’s just something I’ve been going through, that I’ll get over it after a short period of time. They don’t understand. They think I’m doing this to myself for things that don’t matter to them. But they never thought that maybe they’re the reason why I’m struggling to live. Why I still have to stay and suffer. I couldn’t hurt them with the way I am, so I have no choice but to hurt myself instead, and after the numerous scars I’ve had, they still call me selfish. Selfish for being sad and depressed, for not appreciating them enough. But have they ever appreciated my effort to live for them? Have they ever stopped talking and tried to listen to me instead? To hear out my cries just for once? To allow me to be upset and angry because I’m just human? Can’t they ever experience the feeling that you can’t save everyone so you have to sacrifice yourself? I wish they knew my struggle. That I just can’t simply stop. That no matter how much I want to, I no longer have control over my body. I wish they knew my insanity. And maybe they’d pity me like the hypocrites they are. I don’t think it’s that hard to start using your eyes and ears before using your mouth. But they still had to take the only thing I had from me—-my soul.