Every day is a fight

Still heading for the ground

I’m not asking why. I know this happens. I can’t do anything. Everything’s been fine for so long now. Then breakdown. Pain. Desperation. Tears.

Everything that’s been so good and made me happy slips away, further and further, away from sight. I see no beauty anymore. I loved to see my plants grow, everything I collected for my scrap book, I loved to see my friends online, loved to talk with them, laugh, joke, share my happy mood. But I can’t share my despair. Can’t share my pain, depression, anxiety. Nobody wants that.

If I tell they just say they can’t help. I don’t know if I have friends at all. I don’t know why they say that. My family is gone. I have no parents. There’s nothing but old dust. I want to wipe it all away. I want to forget, find new memories.

I draw stuff. Stuff like this.

female victim

Must let it out or it kills me.

My body is crying for blood and in the desperation it doesn’t matter whose blood it is. I’m getting big new scars on my both arms. But I’m blind to them. I’m blind, I don’t care of the gazes of other people outside. I don’t give a fuck. There was nobody to help me when I was dying. This is the result of not getting help when needing it badly. All of those fuckers out there should see it.

There was something that made me fall this time. I chatted with my best friend. He sent me a link to a video of his work. It gave me the rest. I feel so fucking lonely, like I’m worth nothing, I’m nothing, my life could end now. I could go. Seen enough.

He’s a nice person. He means so much to me, but right now it’s all worthless.

I see it before my eyes. Drops of blood, falling to the toilet, big drops. Me kneeling before the bowl, feeling nothing. Just sitting there and watching the drops fall, long. The blood doesn’t mix with water. It sinks deep. Slowly the water turns reddish. I stare, with blank eyes. Stand up eventually, wipe my arm with toilet paper, got no bandages. What? Toilet paper. Finishing the wrap with green tape. It smells like a mixture of something desinfected and dried blood. It smells like home. It’s comforting. I lay to bed, stare the wall with blank eyes. I see the poster with a post-apocalyptic soldier. I rest my savaged arm on my gun. It’s cooling. Eventually the sleeping pill starts to work and I fall asleep.

Thinking about that is calming me.

…it’s come to take us home.

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