“Whats the point of living life if it all just contradicts? “

In all honesty, I don’t think I’m getting any better. Maybe for a day, or for just a couple of hours I actually feel something other than this depression consuming my soul. I feel content. I notice more things, like the way my boyfriends lips curve into this smirk of a smile, or the way the wind blows at night, and all the living creatures are sleeping, but you can feel the vibrations of the earth. These are the moments when I think that living might not be such a bad thing. But it never lasts. My worst enemy is myself, my own insecurities, my thoughts ravishes my body brutally. My screams are not heard. I am silent in my pain. Tears stain my pillows, I can feel the salt on my lips and I curl in on myself into a tiny tight ball willing myself to pull it together. Its hard. Knowing my could be deadly to ones mental health. I have seen the effect I have on people who try to get close to me. They destroy themselves trying to help, it doesn’t matter about the warnings that I give to these people, they still try with all their effort to help me. To protect me. And it doesn’t make anything better. It makes me feel worse. Who would want to see someone they love destroy themselves trying to help you? Life itself is a beautiful contradicting tragedy. We’re born, not by our own choice but by those before us And then we live based off of how society wants you to live. You obey the worlds, do your work, don’t cheat, thou shalt not steal, murder and all that other good shit. If you break any of these rules you’re looked upon as different. An abnormally. An error in society that needs to not be seen or heard. Expectations are high, self esteem is low and we’re all just walking on a tightrope. Clinging to whatever shitty lives that we born into trying to make the best of it. That in itself is what I like to call a beautifully tragedy.