I want to stuff my face into a pillow and not wake up.
I want to jump in front of a train and end it all.
I want to stop eating so that my body breaks down and can’t function
I want to rot away in bed and hide from the world
I want my pain to end. But I don’t want to end.
I want to function but I don’t know how
I want to get a chainsaw and hack my abusers to pieces
I want to kick the shit out of their heads and stomp all over their bodies
I want to put several bullets in their skulls
I want them to feel an ounce of the torment that I feel
That I will feel for the rest of my life
I don’t know how to handle all these emotions
The never ending film of trauma playing in my head over and over
Day after day
These were the books I bought to help aid success
The books that symbolised recovery
The books that symbolised struggle
These are the books that now show failure
The books that show regret
The empty pages symbolise no education
No fulfilment of dreams –
What do you do when it is only grades and marks that create your being?
I cannot pass the test that is life
Yet can pass irrelevant examinations
That is true failure.
When people tell me that I’m ‘brave’ or thank me for telling them that I was raped, i honestly want to slap them.
there is nothing to be thankful about, i’m not giving you a cure or a pathway to neverending life.
I was told today by a girl, (who means well) that she read my blog and that it was ‘lovely’. at the risk of being a cunt, there is nothing lovely about contemplating suicide and writing about how grief is tearing you up from the inside.
are people fucking stupid?
nobody knows what to say and how to react. so just don’t say anything. just go for the classic response, the look of intense pity and failed attempts at comforting and not knowing the right way to look.
You can all fuck off.