I don’t even know anymore.

I think about death, so much, I’ve tried to end my life, and I have no doubt that I will again, and maybe one day, I won’t be so useless.

Or, my time will come naturally, either way death is a part of life. Even though the thought of death often fills my mind. I’m terrified, even though my fear is decreasing, I hope it never stops.

It’s ironic because I’m worried no one will remember me, I haven’t done anything remotely worth remembering. The world will keep spinning and the people consumed in their lives will keep on living, which is hilarious because it’s what’s happening now. I’m so confused about myself. What am I doing? Where am I going? WHAT AM I EVEN THINKING?

It’s like, I was born backwards. It’s like it’s a one-way-street, everyone is going in the right direction, sometimes making a few wrong turns, but getting back on the road, while I’m being pulled, kicking and screaming by something that I can’t see or comprehend, sometimes just letting it drag me, others, I’m grabbing to people, begging, pleading.

It’s like I have this inability to communicate, like being born backwards is making me talk backwards, no one is understanding me and they are just looking at me confused before they move away or leave. They always leave.

Posting what I was feeling used to make me feel, now the only thing I feel is numb. I have no energy. My body is tired, my mind is exhausted. What’s the point of talking if we cannot even speak the same language. I cannot even say I have lost my will to fight, because I don’t even think I had it to begin with.

I do not wish for someone to understand, my body aches at the thought of this, simple because, if you can understand me, you feel it, live it, too. Which is upsetting, because I don’t want anyone to hurt. I want to see people smile, even though I’m not included.

It’s bittersweet to be dragged down, while I’m accepting my fate, I feel comfort in knowing that, someone, any face that is looking right through me, is feeling life. 

Everyone believes in something. I believe in hope, it’s what gets me through the day, but even more so at night.

I hope that I never lose hope. 

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Being me.

Imagine, just for a moment, there was a bee stuck inside your head.

You can hear it.
You don’t know why it’s there.
You can’t get it out.
And it will never stop.
Only you can hear it.

Imagine, how insane you will begin to feel, experiencing this over, and over.

Now, imagine, trying to explain the bee in your head to someone. Imagine how it would feel as you watch their facial expressions change, ranging from humour, to confusion. How frustrating it is, all the while that bee, is just getting louder and louder.

When you reach a state of mania, consider how insulting it can be, to hear the people you have told about your bee, question it more.

but, how can you have that bee, if you’re happy? You can’t just pick and choose when you hear the bee, I’m not sure there is a bee at all.

Sometimes, that bee is my friend. Sometimes, that bee has the ability to make me hyperactive, and full of love, and life. That bee fills me with the desire to buy and do everything, at once! The bee controls my sexual desire, helping me feel sexy and attractive. That bee shows me just how exhilarating things can truly be. I feel like I can do anything and everything!

But most of the time, that bee is determined to kill me make me hate myself, completely.

That bee gets louder, more frequent, and I begin to feel irritated, frustrated and full of rage, that bee shows me how uncontrollable I can be. I want to hurt you, I want to hurt me, I want to hurt the world.

The bee never shuts up. The buzzing pushes me into the darkness of my own mind, where madness carves it’s own reality, either into my skin, or into my mind.

My body, and my state of mind, consists of nothing but blackness, terror and pure undefined hate, all because of that bee.

Imagine sitting next to someone, a perfect stranger, and wishing you could have their mind, and whatever troubles they are going through, just so you could experience a life without the bee buzzing.

That bee causes me to lose my bearings. Have you ever gotten on a train, and completely forgotten where you were going because of how loud that buzzing is?

Nothing at all seems worth it, when you’ve endlessly tried to shut that cunt up.

I cannot trust my reactions, I cannot trust my thoughts, I cannot trust my being, I cannot trust myself.

That bee has caused me to forget who I am.

I hope, you never hear that bee.

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