I’m Trying So Fucking Hard And No One Sees That. I’m Trying So Fucking Hard To Stay Alive But My

I've been fighting for so long but I am tired I dont know how much longer I can do this for.

Do you get sad suddenly and your chest starts hurting and it takes all of your energy to move even slightly ?

Now I’m empty. I have nothing to give to anyone. Except for talking about my pain. And since I realize that’s toxic, I’ve simply isolated.

rb if you didn’t realize you had trauma until years after it happened

I’m jealous of those who can function like a normal human being. They don’t have anxiety holding them back from everything, they don’t struggle to get out of bed or have to put on an act that everything is fine when its not. They don’t struggle to hold friendships and relationships… they don’t feel sad for no fucking reason everyday. Those that can hold jobs and work towards their dreams, the ones who have self esteem and see the beauty in themselves. Those that know what its like to feel safe and secure, not insecure and fearful of it all. 

Let's be real. It's not about being skinny. It's about looking as sick on the outside as you feel on the inside.

skinny

when I was dying

I think it is really fucked up

to start a sentence like this

everyone complimented me

on slowly turning to ashes

'You look so pretty dear'

they said

and I heard

'try harder'

when someone is suffering

from lung cancer

You don't light them a cigarette

You don't

You do not hand a suicidal person

a loaded gun

unless you want them to die

so why did you?

why did you handed me a gun?

what was I supposed to do with it?

besides pulling the trigger

when you are sixteen

and at some point

we all are

nothing is as easy as dying

without anyone noticing

dying isn't like it is in the movies

a 60 second sequel

with blood and wounds and lots of noise

it is a quiet long-term-process

You do not recognise the dead

-aeris

A part of suicidal ideation or self harm no one talks about is the numbness to the subject that comes with it. I sit and scroll through pages and pages of cries for help, suicide notes and plans and feel nothing. No worry, no concern, no crushing feeling in my chest. Nothing. Those familiar feelings are now replaced with a strange familiarity, a kind of comfort that it’s not just me.

Fuck. When did it get to this