sorry if long. not meant to be directed at anyone here. general thing, was something i was typing for my T on word but turned kinda rant-y idk i doubt i'll show him, it doesn't make a load of sense, putting it here instead, idk maybe i'll delete it later. no, not meant to be a "pity" post. just had a ****ed up week and this is how i'm venting.

--

I’m sick of this.

Life. Cruel, harsh, icy, evil, life. Tired of fear, tired of anger, tired of sadness, tired of lies and death and memories.

I ask it all the time, why do I bother? I don’t belong in this life. I don’t know what to grasp onto, what to feel, what to do. Keep pushing, just keep holding on, eventually you’ll get to that place where you’re better. I’ve been holding on for my entire bloody life. I’ve been dangling off a cliff since I was born. Holding on doesn’t seem appealing when what does life ever seem to promise? Death and pain, abandonment and lies, cruelty and blood.

Hang on for my family? They mean the world to me, but what good am I to them? I’m mental, I’m useless. What good is someone who can never be there?

I don’t matter. People know I don’t matter. If I scream loud enough people will express their concern but so few people actually care. They’ll notice when I scream but they won’t care. They won’t care when I suffer in silence. I have to scream to be seen. I’m so tired of screaming, but what else can I do? I can suffer in silence, that makes people happy. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do. I guess that’s never changed. I’m still the little boy people are blind to.

I’ll slump up against my wall- what an awful week it’s been. And I keep wondering, why the hell am I still here. I’ll scream then tape my mouth shut again. People will politely tell me how I’m important, despite what they think, and leave me to suffer, pretending they can’t see these cuts and bruises, these eyes that beg to cry. Hell, why do I bother trying to be nice to people? They’ll just drop me, they won’t care inside, they put on that façade.

Although, I see why I'm worthless. Not here for my family, and I'm completely and utterly useless. What have I ever done for anyone?

After, what? Trudge along as always as keep going, trying to ignore the pain, ignore the monsters yelling inside of me, ignore the laughing in my head?

I’m not who I want to be. I am sick of this life. I’m sick of this sickness. I want a world where I can be happy, have friends. I look at the calender- May. May flowers. Sure. A flower to mark my dear dog’s death, a flower to mark my twisted mum this mother’s day, a flower to throw on dear Vlad’s grave.

Anger, sadness, guilt, blame. What these eyes have seen, what I’ve lived through, I can’t TAKE THIS ANYMORE. If I had known surviving everything would have brought me to feel like this I wouldn't have survived.

How weak I am, I don't even know how I survived. Alone but so in need of something. Lonely child, always was, always will be. Lonely child, wounded animal, broken adult. Fragments. Shards. Incomplete.

But back to the lonely corner where I’ll wish I could sleep forever. Watch the clock tick on, tick tock tick tock, and cry in my head because I can’t out loud. Hope that someone extends their hand and keeps it there because I'm too shy to stick mine out. Because I know what happens when you let down your guard, even for a minute.

I guess I belong in the darkness, alone even in a crowded room, once born into this despair, you can't get out. Devil child.