What It Feels Like To Die On The Inside


Maybe the monsters who lived under my bed when I was a kid managed to find a way inside my head instead. Maybe that’s what caused everything to go downhill.

You know what sucks? I’m not even trying anymore. I just don’t see the point in trying, when nothing I do is ever going to be good enough for anybody.

I wonder what it’s like to not feel worthless. To actually feel like there’s a reason for you to wake up tomorrow. Did I feel like that once? I can’t remember it now. Why do I have to feel like I want to jump off a cliff when anyone else my age is growing up, falling in love and shit like that? Everyone is moving on with their lives, while I’m stuck in this dark hole that I can’t climb out of.

Tonight, my parents were yelling at me, telling me how stupid I was, for not completing another one of my assignments, when suddenly, I lost it. I remember lifting up my plate and smashing it down on the table. Silence. I hope you’re happy, Dad said. Do you honestly think I did that to be happy?

By this point I’ve probably forgotten exactly what that is.

I think the thing I’d like the most is to know where the hell my life is heading. To know for sure that things are going to get better. Because even though everyone is telling me that, I can’t believe it. Because people say a lot of things, that doesn’t mean you should believe them. But when I don’t believe what they tell me, they get sad. And I hate myself for it; I wish I could believe them, I want to believe them, I really do. But I can’t. Not when everything else in the universe is telling me otherwise.

I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I tell everyone not to worry about me, that I’m perfectly fine. I even laugh to try and convince you that this is the case. But deep down, I’m hoping that you’ll see how I’m about to burst on the inside and how I’m silently screaming for help, and make it all better.

Because I’m falling apart, and I can see every piece of me hitting the ground and shattering around me. And it’s killing me.