Im good.

How are you feeling today.

"good" she says.

Lies.

Is.

What.

She.

Tells.

"I'm fine"
"It's good"
"Oh I had fun"

Every night, out of the blue she gets the feeling of being dragged into a dark room. Something is very wrong, the voice says.

It's worse. It's all worse. Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. It whispers more to her.

She screams "no". But that's useless.

Cry. It says. Cry. It keeps on saying.

She shakes her head as a no.

She doesn't want to do this again.

It's grabs her and shakes her violently, and says "hurt your self, it'd make it easier to cry"

Unwillingly she throws a few punches at the wall, and tries to gain control of her body by clinging on to her self.

Her long nails seep through her skin.

It's growing more strong. It's grabs her neck and strangles her.

She gasps for air, and she give in.

She gave up the fight, as she broke into sobs, crying out like her heart broke, like her world ended.

The pain, all this done to her is..

I can't describe the pain.

It drains her energy, as she passes out.

.......................

The sun rises, and its evening.

She slept entire day. Again.

She opens her red swollen eyes, as she gets up she winces at how sore her body feels.

She looks at her hand, for the aftermath of last night's event.

She wonders if no one see's, the pain.

The scars on her hand.

Her swollen eyes.

Prolly not. She mutters as she drags her self into her bathroom.

She looks into the mirror, with disgust, she doesn't like her face.

She thanks the mirror for showing her face only.

Atleast I don't see my whale body.

She mutters.

Back to the bed.

She's tired.

Very tired.

Why is she going thru all this? And why isn't she trying?

She has been trying for years.

4 years of struggling with self esteem, depression.

Its winning.

She tried to run away from her house with the sharpest knife in her kitchen.

Wrong phonecall made her stop that night.

This was a few weeks ago.

She wonders if no one really see's her pain

Then she tries to find help online, to talk to someone relatable, because no one irl cares.

She tries to be normal, she tries to be what she truly is.

A funny girl, who likes to make dumb jokes (no lie they are dumb af) , who tries to not laugh out loud cause her laugh is contagious af, who always have something to talk about.

The few people she found as friends know her, dumb and silly. Very clumsy. And loves to draw and sing, she always tries to please others and make others happy.

If I can't be happy I can help others be happy.

I preach about how suicide isn't a option, how it isn't gonna really help at all, and yet I want to slowly drag that sharp knife accross my wrist.

I want to watch me bleed to death.

If not that, can I jump of the bridge?

If not that, can I hang my self?

She doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to live this life of repeat.

She wants help, help in casting this demon of a depression or whatever go away.

The way I ask for help is weird.

I don't just straight forward say, hey I'm suicidal af help me.

I'm not weak.

I question my self, why do I feel, and why does this happen to me.

Remember, the past that you try to forget every day and yet somehow it comes back.

Things would be so different, if my mother hadn't died.

Maybe I should join her. That won't take my pain away, but I wouldn't have to deal with it.

(: