Pain

There are things I rather write in English because I feel, this way, it hurts less.

Like I’m unattached from the words.

But truth is I AM the words.

And I just don’t wanna feel myself. Because I am constantly, always hurting. I am constantly holding back tears and breaking my own heart.

I fall in love with the wrong people, I put myself in dangerous situations and I push myself so hard I cry out of stress. I take my pills with vodka because I wanna feel numb.

I want to stop feeling, you see?

I want to end the pain, and I constantly think about ending life.

Yeah. I know.

When these thoughts are too painful, I cut or bite myself.

I pray to God. I pray to Mother Mary.

I pray to the bad spirits around me.

I am constantly tired.

Yet, I am able to laugh. To socialize.

I LOVE my friends, but a few weeks ago I didn’t have any.

I hate my disorders and I hate the way they make me feel, but I gotta accept who I am. And that some people often cherish me. I just ruin things, eventually.

I am exhausted. Anxious. Depressed. It’s been a while I didn’t feel this bad.