Dear Self ,

Something’s wrong with me, seriously wrong. I go from one extreme to another in a matter of seconds, from exuberance to utter despondence and depression.  I’m tired, tired of feeling like nothing , I’m tired of being washed in waves of depression and left to the cold unforgiving words of my mind. I’m sick of the fear of myself, the hatred of myself and my body. I’m sick of smiling when I’m dying inside. But what bothers me the most is how increasingly tired I get of existing sometimes, I want to live and I want to be happy but sometimes it seems utterly impossible. It makes me sick that I actually can fool myself into believing that if something happened to me today it wouldn’t affect tomorrow, people would be the same and it would be like I never was here.  I don’t know what to exactly call what I have, whether I’m depressed or bipolar or just sad but I wish it could stop.

I shouldn’t find comfort in a blade crossing my skin. I shouldn’t find relief in the flames of a match or the heat of a lighter. I shouldn’t mutilate my own body to make myself feel better. I shouldn’t shut the world out because I’m afraid of their judgment and beration. I shouldn’t care what people think of me or how they see me and it shouldn’t reduce me to tears and moments of self-pity and hatred. I shouldn’t care, but I do and that’s the root of the problem. The absolute quintessence of my demise and I am helpless.