Let’s jump together, kiss for our last moments, and die in the throes of love.

I’m painted with the shame of my disease.

Long pink scars, that never really disappear, that are never really forgotten.

All I want, all I need is perfection.

Though I’m as far from achieving it as a person can be.

I’m fat. I’m dumb, I’m disgusting. I’m scarred. I’m imperfect.

But I have learned to accept those imperfections. Embrace them.

Or I’ll die by my own hands.

I know this sounds like a moody teenage rant, but in all actuality, no one truly gets me. They have these preconceived  notions that I’m what I appear to be.

Sorry, I’m not.

On the outside I’m pretty, smart, athletic, cool.

But really I’m a self-conscious girl who’s unsure of everything. I believe in nothing. No religion, no people, no institutions, nothing. I’m mostly just unsure of myself.

I choose to turn off my emotions so I don’t have to deal with these things that I have absolutely no faith in. I cut myself just to feel something - anything.

I can’t get hurt. I can’t deal with that possibility. The only way I won’t get hurt is if I don’t let them hurt me, they can only hurt me if I let them.

Keep them out of my heart, no emotions.

No hurting, no long lonely nights, just numb, emotionless bliss.

In the end I can hurt myself more than you ever could.

And that’s how I like it.

How lovely it would be to die

To rest and rest and never cry

To have no more pain

To rip apart a bright red vein

Then watch my life just drip away

And sigh softly to myself as I pray

A better life for friends and family

Lives that no longer include me

And drift away into peaceful sleep

No longer wanting to cry and weep

A lifeless body is what I’ll become

End myself and then succumb

To the serene dark of death

And draw my final breath

Then slip away without a sound

To a resting place with love around

Nothing less than paradise

And I can finally rest my eyes.

For someone on tons of meds and in supposed recovery, I cry myself to sleep way too much.

I cry and cry and cry. Sleeping is the only thing that stops the tears.

I have no idea why I’m so unhappy. I should be fine. But I’m not.

And then my fucked up mind just screams at me to cut.

Slice your arm open, let the blood run free.

I’m ugly. I’m dumb. All I deserve is pain.

Maybe my fucked up mind is the sane one.

I felt better before I was happy.