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Screaming on the Inside

I tune out the world because sometimes it’s better to be left alone, but then I see how happy everyone is and how much they enjoy life. I begin to hate myself a little bit . . . a lot a bit. I don’t understand why I can’t be like that. This self-hate, the downgrading, is just exhausting.

NO,
what’s exhausting is keeping up a facade. It takes so much not to just break down and cry, not to just cut, not to just release, to just be happy or pretend to be happy because I don’t want anyone to worry. I hate when people worry, but I hate pity even more. That’s why no one knows, cause no one can understand my torment. I keep going though, because I think it’ll get better, and for her. I have to keep strong for her, make things better for her. I can’t let her down.

And life sucks.
Nothing goes right, does it? And I wonder if I’ll ever meet someone who will help me get through this, who will help me see that I have so much to live for and that it’s not a chore. Someone I can let in. Because my “friends” don’t know. I never tell them everything. Some don’t even listen.
No, because that’s my job. I’m the listener. There is no reciprocation for me. There never is and I wonder why I even bother, but I know why.

Cause I hate being alone.
I can’t stand the loneliness, even though I push everyone away for that purpose. I don’t like knowing that there is no one that truly stays for me. I’m just a replacement for others. When they need someone, I’m the one they use.
Where is the justice in that? How come I can’t get anything real? So I’m giving you up, because you are a disappointment. Hearing others enjoy themselves when I’m close-by, without being acknowledged, makes me want to scream, but I don’t.

I’m reserved.
I’m nice.
I have to be.

Because what if they all just disappear because I said something wrong or did something because I couldn’t control myself. Like you did? What if everyone left me like you? Writing doesn’t soothe me anymore and I blame myself. It’s not me anymore. I’m not me anymore. I don’t even know who I am. Why do I refuse to cry?

I hate me, every day. Because I keep thinking,

‘I’m alright. I’m just fine. It’ll all get better. Just be patient. Don’t scare her. She depends on you. And we promised we’d make her future better.’

I’m not alright, am I?
No, I know I’m not.

I wonder how I became like this. Surely, I wasn’t ever like this. Because if I was, wouldn’t someone have noticed and helped me before it escalated to this? Surely someone would’ve. I’m scared to get help. Because that shows that I’m not alright. And if everyone found out, who would want to be with me? I don’t want to be with me. I’m just waiting, praying, no maybe hoping a little, that something in the universe will end this. I don’t want to die, because I know that would be a waste and I can’t do that to her, but I want something that will erase all the hardships from my memory.

I want to start over.

Life doesn’t have a redo, though. So I’m stuck, I’m screwed for life. I can’t take anything of what I did back. It kills me. Can I just forget?

Please.

I’ve sunk too deep to help myself and I know that no one will help me. Why? I won’t let them. There’s no way. So I am a masochist. I dwell in this pain. It’s become my life. Maybe this is who I am. I just want to hide, but I know that I can’t. That would bring questions and I don’t do questions. I hate questions. I hate people worrying, sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong. They don’t deserve to know what wrong. None of them do.

I’m drowning here.
There’s no one to save me and I can’t even save myself. I can literally feel a pain in my chest. It hurts so much to be like this.  I can’t force myself to fix this. Even though I desperately want to.

My head starts to hurt.
The pain in my chest hasn’t gone away yet. I don’t expect it to until I do something.

Like run.

That helped last time, but even my body won’t move. All I have to do is change and go. Run for a bit, but I can’t. I’d rather wallow here. And then this rage consumes me. And it’s directed at those who are happy. Those that laughing and enjoying themselves. I hate them. I hate how happy they are. It’s not fair. I just want to hurt them. But I can’t. I have to restrain myself. I don’t know how much longer I can last. It’s too late to do anything tonight.

I just want to curl up and cry.

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