My Little Pity Party

I hate my body

From head to toe

I wish I had died

So long ago

I'm crying for help

But no one hears

I've reached the end

I'm all out of tears.

-Why am I still here?

I'm beginning to get frustrated with a lot. My anxiety controls every aspect of my life. I've begun skipping meals, I don't go out as much as I used to, I've closed myself off from everyone, and I'm constantly sick. People tell me all the time "Chill, there's literally nothing to be anxious about" or "We're just driving down the road" or my favorite "Why is your face so red?" This is enough to drive someone to the edge of insanity. There have been so many times I've just wanted to sit down and cry and scream and destroy something. I've been tempted to stick my arm over the flames of my candle just to feel something. I'm dead inside.

Sure I still care about people and I know I'd be missed if I died, but some days I just don't care. I'm just so numb and empty inside that I physically can't bring myself to care. My life has been on a steady decline, and although some things have made me happy and I've felt life was actually going okay, things eventually changed. I lost feelings for things I once felt, and I slowly slip away from reality until I'm in my own little world, surrounded by the same dust-colored air. Some days, though, I'd rather feel dead.

The days I feel are usually the worst. A constant gnawing feeling in my stomach reminds me of my sadness and anxiety, bringing me to tears. I always tell myself not to cry, crying is for the weak. But I always end up crying, becoming asphyxiated from my own tears and sticky saliva, my nose too runny to breathe out of it. My body rattles with sobs as I try to calm myself down, looking in the mirror and seeing how ugly I am, making me cry even harder until eventually, I fall asleep and am once again surrounded by the bleak dust-colored air I greet every night.

Sure I've tried reaching out for help. I've written notes, I've talked to people, and I've straight up said I needed help. I need to talk to someone who can help me. Yet each time, I get a simple answer: I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Well, I sure don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do either. In a sense their answer makes me feel normal like I'm not the only dumb one who doesn't have a clue on how to fix myself. But I know I'm not normal. I need help. No one knows how to help me because they don't need help. I really want to just give up and cave into these feelings, let them swallow me so I'm finally able to have some peace, so I'm not constantly hurting. But I'm choosing to fight every day, no matter how much it hurts. All these scars aren't from "the battles" I face, they are from my illness; they are from me. So I will not bring anyone down with me as I try to fight my way back to normalcy, I will be strong. After all, I'm fighting myself. And I should know myself better than anyone else.