Dead Habits

I hate it. I hate living with a mental illness. A personality disorder to narrow it down. They said they understand but everything in your head is fighting against you. I understand I'm responsible for my actions but when someone else takes over what am I suppose to do then. It's not me. THEY'RE NOT ME. I have invasive thoughts. I have loud and angry voices.

Constantly telling me; You can't do that. You've embarrassed yourself. They're staring. You can't fix this. THEY KNOW. They remember. They can see through everything. There's nothing beautiful about that. There's nothing beautiful with wanting to slash every vein in your body or wanting to cause harm to others. Or crying at 3am hoping you will just tire yourself out and fall asleep. Waking up with eyes so swollen that they hurt trying to open them. 

I would honestly give anything to take it all away. I don't care. I wouldn't wish this on anybody. Having to be tormented by what. WHAT. They're staring again. Having to pretend and fake through everyFUCKINGthing. It's tiring. It's draining. Just take this all away. Just give me all the pills. Just let me sleep. They can hear me. They know I'm weak. stop.

I'm so tired but it doesn't stop. It's like having to be constantly stressed over a deadline that never ends. Edge. Sharp. Make it stop. End it. Would it matter? It'll be easy. NO. I hate when I slip. It's so hard to encourage myself to get back up and keep going when I don't even know where I'm headed. This is one of my bad days but I know I can make it through the night.

I know she can. 

I can't say that I took suicide off my plate. I think about it every night.