To some a lost loved one.
To others an unforgivable sin.
To a few, an answer.
‘but think of the ones left behind.’
‘think of the future you are giving up.’
The problem is that I think too much.
That happy future is out of reach,
The dark pit I’ve fallen into is my home now.
As for my loved ones,
They cannot see the pain I am in,
Continuing to beg me to fight when I am wounded.
Alone, for none of them will acknowledge the war inside my head.
If they think I’m selfish for wanting to die,
Then I say they are selfish for wanting me to continue living like this.
The fact that I’m alive now is the proof that I’m still fighting,
But this isn’t something I can do alone,
Though, alone is all I know.
From when I was little I remember my feelings being set aside.
A young girl being over-emotional, over-dramatic.
Questioning if I am any more than a ghost haunting this room.
So when you tell me to talk,
What am I to say?
How am I to keep your interest?
How am I to know what is worrying,
When nothing mattered before?