have you ever wanted to tell someone something? not a little thing. like, a big thing. "help me" is only two little words, but they have such a big meaning they scare me.
i'm afraid of the consequences too. what will my parents do? will they look at me the same way? my youth pastor, what will he think?
now that i think about it, i'm more likely to tell my youth pastor than my own parents.
and yet another part of me is angry. why can't they tell? i've receded so far back into my mind, i struggle to remember how to smile. everything's dull, and the colours are so dim they fade into one ugly blob. but yet, sometimes, i forget how numb i am, and the colours are bright and the world is so hopefull that i want to stay there forever. but it doesn't last… by the end of the day, i slip right back into this vicious life.
i've imagined a thousand ways to tell someone. randomly breaking down in the middle of something – anything. just saying, "i have to tell you something." or just slipping it nonchalantly into a conversation. i don't know what i want to do anymore. i used to fantasize about killing myself. i had tons of chances. i was home alone a lot. sometimes i would hold a knife or gun to myself, as if to kill myself, and i would just stay like that, knowing that even though i had the power and the will, i would never do it because i was too much of a coward. i tried to cut myself instead, thinking if i could manage to do that, then i would be able to work myself up to killing myself. but i was a terrible cutter. sometimes i wasn't even able to cut myself. i wonder if i would be able to do it if i actually used a sharp knife instead of an old and dull pocket knife, but when i would get the chance, i would only be able to press enough to leave a dent.
why is it so easy for me to tell strangers this? because i won't see your face everyday. i won't see you judge me. i won't see you at all, and therefore, have no consequences.
why can't i just tell them.
why can't i just ask help me.
why am i such a coward.