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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.

Being ignored.

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?

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