So I wrote something. I would like to think it's kind of like those Poetry Slam Poems. It doesn't rhymn but I feel like it would be more effective if I said it, istead of reading it. But I had to share… And I didn't have anyone to share it with… I would like to think it's good. Tell me what you think if you want. Sorry if it's long.

It’s like no one truly understand the pain it takes to even think about hurting yourself in a physical way. Or simply how addicting that moment of relief can be. I go through everyday thinking about dragging that knife down my arm, my thigh, my hip. Anywhere that no one will see. Because if they see, they will judge. They don’t understand. I need the relief. I WANT the relief. I need the reassurance that the blood gives me. I need to know I’m real. I need to know that there is a pain greater than the one that plagues my mind. They underestimate the darkness. They haven’t felt it’s grasp before. They haven’t sat in the darkness, tears staining your cheeks, eyes swollen shut simply knowing that you can’t move on, you can’t give in, you can’t make it. You want to be the best there is to be, you want him to remain by your side, you want to tell her how much you love her, you want to scream to your parents, your friends, the world to pay attention to you, that you exists. You want the world to know that you are smarter than your grades depict. That you were just nervous or that you weren’t prepared or that you stayed up all night thinking, worrying, praying that college will be different. That somehow you will find friends that understand you. That you can get away from home and they will realise what they had and they will miss you. That you can finally see him, despite what everyone says. That you can find another to call your own and who will love you no matter what problems, no matter what scars, no matter how many tears you have shed over the seemingly little things. You are praying that the future will somehow be better but for now you have to go through the present. You have to endure the aching pain of it all. You have to endure the stereotypes, the hate. You have suffer because you know that if it wasn’t you, than it would have to be someone else and god forbid you let that happen. They don’t understand that the darkness is home. They don’t understand that you can’t simply bid it away because if you do, it will come back, angry and will hurt you, it will silence you, it will destroy you. They don’t understand. They don’t understand that you have to feel the darkness so that no one else will. That you are saving them from the hurt that you feel everyday. They don’t understand that it isn’t as simple as saying begone. They don’t understand that you too need relief from time to time. They don’t know how good it feels to feel the cold against your warm body, the blood seeping across your arm, your thigh, your hip. They try to tell you that it’s bad for you. That you could kill yourself. But they don’t understand that death would be better than the pain that you feel everyday, even if nothing bad happened that day. They don’t understand the darkness, the falling. The feeling that you get every so often that overwhelms your soul. That feeling you try to shove away. You just want them to understand that it’s not that simple. THAT YOU ARE FINE. Because this life is all you know. That you are trying to get through the present so that maybe one day you too can be happy. That maybe one day someone will sacrifice their happiness for YOU. So maybe someday someone will care enough to sit you down and see behind the whole mask, the whole game, the whole lie. So maybe someday you can finally drop the knife, the pencil sharpener, the lighter, the bottle and heal. But today is not that day.


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