This is my life.

People cry not because they’re weak but because they’ve been strong for too long.  Tears stream down my porcelain cheeks as these words runs through my head. The knife's’ radiant polish shining like the sun. I press the edge lightly to my wrist teasingly tracing the blade along my paper thin skin. The tears only come harder as my own thoughts chase tormenting comments around in my scarred mind. The grotesque words taking shape on my tongue and with the ice cold blade already placed upon my skin I look into the cracked dirty mirror. I clutch the knife tighter in my fist, more tears running down my flushed cheeks and dripping off my chin like a broken faucet. I continue to glare at my dirty reflection, the nasty words clawing at my throat begging to spill off my awaiting lips. I press harder onto the knife's handle and carefully and slowly drag it horizontally over my wrist. I sigh and close my eyes feeling the deep stinging pain, feeling my lease. The dark blood that I have been waiting to drip from my skin, falls to the sodden ivory sink I frown at my arm and make another long awaiting incision on my pale under arm. The unfaithful words finally letting themselves free, I couldn’t contain them any longer.
“You are worthless, ugly, and unworthy” I continue to make deep cuts on my forearms, staring at the ugly person in the rusty mirror. Blood continues to trickle into the bathroom sink, I grasp the knife in my sweaty hands silent tears slid continuously down my ugly tear stained cheeks. “Why was I born into this worthless life!?” I scream.  A scream that tears at my lungs and throat. It echos through the house. An empty house. I was alone. Nobody to comfort me or care. I was desperate for love. But nobody noticed and this is where it led me. Finding pain to cover the numbness that consumed me many years ago. I scream once more as I make more and more memories for everyone to see. They can see my mistakes my misunderstandings they can see my worthless life nobody understands. I am a mess, a mess nobody cares for anymore. I am just another piece of trash that God had to throw away into his personal dumpster. The knife drops into the bloody sink as it slips from my hand. I slowly sink to the floor, my back pressed against the bathroom wall. My body wilts like a dying flower as I feel the affects of the loss of blood consume my tired and pained body. I bury my head into my knees, and wrap my cut and bloody arms around my ankles. I let the fear, sadness,  and pain take over my mind and it slowly leads me to delirium. My body shakes with the silent sobs wracking throughout my small frame. My breathing gets more staggered and I become more desperate for air. And finally I lift myself to my feet and look back into the broken, oxidized  mirror and frown at my red, swollen, and blotchy face. “What have I done?” I manage to speak, My voice as rough as sandpaper. Love hurts. No that's not true, loneliness hurts, rejection hurts. Everyone confuses these things with love, but in reality, love is the only thing in this world that covers the pain and makes us feel wonderful inside. And that is what I am missing in this young throbbing heart. Love. And I keep trying to get it and I’m tired. tired of trying, Tired of hoping tired of coping, tired of existing, tired of breathing, tired of living. I’m done.
And I know if I tell anyone about my life they will all say “ I understand.” But really they don’t. They don’t know what it’s like, when nothing feels alright, they don’t know what it’s like to be me. Stuck in a deep dark hole called depression. And just because I am not dead doesn’t mean I am alive. And I don’t blame anyone. I did this to myself. It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. Some days I think “ I can’t do It. I can’t go on like this any longer.” and other days I feel I have conquered the world and I say, “ I survived. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” And sometimes I am to depressed to think, and the memories sneak out my eyes and roll down my cheeks.
Nobody knows. They think I’m the girl that talks others out of suicide. But really I have a hard time doing the same for myself. I truthfully assure everyone how beautiful, Lovely, Wonderful and precious they all are, Because I don’t want them to feel the same way I do: The opposite. I want to be somebody else, somebody different I feel so left out, I am desperate to find something more because my life is over. I am stuck inside a world I hate. I am sick of everyone around. with the big fake smiles and stupid lies, while deep inside i’m bleeding. No one knows what it’s like. No one ever lies straight to their face, no one ever stabbed them in the back.  I just want to talk about it. Damn it.  I want to scream. I want to yell. I want to shout about it. But all i could do was whisper. “I’m fine.”
And I wake up every morning to fight the same demons that left me tired the night before. And that my love is bravery.
I am brave. I am strong. And I can do this. I am a beautiful girl who can do hard things. I am confined to these walls. And only these walls. Because I built them myself. I have broken the ball and chain and I am coming in like a wrecking ball.  I may be broken on the inside. But on the outside I am an armadillo. My barriers are hard and strong.
I will go down with a fight. Because that is what I am. A fighter.