The Knife

The Curse of Mental Pain

    It's never enough. My pain... it's never enough. I always have to do more, to try and prove it's real. So I yell. I fight. I tell that girl in the mirror what a piece of shit she is. I complain about it to others. I isolate myself. Anything. I can cry every day for a week straight and it still wouldn't be enough. My trauma isn't enough. I'm always wishing it was worse. I'm always wishing my life was a living hell again. Do I really want that? No. But it's never enough. Never enough to feel real. Never enough to feel like I have any reason to feel this way. And again and again I think I'm faking. That I made all of this up. I just want it to feel real. Because all I feel like is a selfish little shit and who screwed up her and everyone else around her's life. Just to claim she felt something that was really all in her head. Because she wanted to say she was like everyone else. Maybe I am just an attention seeker. I honestly don't know. I think that's the worst part about when you are in pain but there's no physical evidence to prove it. So I keep doing things, keep saying things, keep making things worse and both wishing for them to get better because I don't wanna be in pain but also wishing Hell upon me. Because maybe, just maybe, one of these days I'll finally feel like I have a valid reason to feel this way. Even though I know that no matter how bad things get, I never am going to feel like its valid, like I'm not faking, like all of this is real. That's just the curse of mental pain. It'll never feel like it's enough. But then again, maybe that's the entire point. I'm not supposed to escape it. I'm not supposed to be able to fight it. I'm just supposed to keep digging my grave, one action, one thought, one word at a time. Maybe this is exactly what I deserve. Maybe... But I guess I'll never really know....