Throughout my life I’ve met and connected with people that suffer the same way I do – that have an overwhelming sense of dread in the morning, or are waiting for the day to die. They’re all gone now. Moved onto better things. Better lives. And I’m still stuck here.
I don’t understand. There’s something inside my head – an anchor, chaining me in place. Why can’t I move on? Why can’t I get a friend? Why can’t I be successful in school? Why can’t I mean something to someone? And they can… Like it never was anything to them. Maybe I could never relate with them, and I was as confused about my existence then as I am now. Maybe it wasn’t agony for them to be alive everyday. Maybe I was alone the entire time.
Lately I’ve been having impulses to die. Impulses that would cause someone to complete the final step. My body’s trying to kill me.
“Every morning he got up
Dreading each moment he had to be awake
He’d look at the floor, scribble on gum wrappers
He never found a better way to joke around
The clock would tick and time would slow
There wasn’t anywhere he wouldn’t go
To avoid having to see anyone
He’d sit in a chair and lean against a wall
But that didn’t seem to matter much at all
But late at night he had a saviour
In his sleep, in his dreams
She came to him and she said
“Poor you, poor you
No one understands you
Poor you, poor you“”