It can be hard to get help from someone when they don't know the problem.
It's even harder when our problems have a bully and touch on our mental health.
But, it's the hardest to get help when the bully... Is you.
Me.
Myself.
Yes, those words hurt. But we, as a choice, repeat those words to ourselves. Convince ourselves that you are right.
And then the words you say no longer affect us, because we, on a daily basis, say worse things to ourselves.
That's why we deal with it ourselves.
Sometimes the act cracks under the pressure and you see a little bit of what goes on in our heads. But, all you can do is comfort us the best you can because you don't know what's going on. All you know is that we need your love.
Because our own love... Is gone.
That's why we don't necessarily reach out to the Angel or God for help, because we don't want sympathy.
We want tough love and understanding.
From the likes of the Devil, Satan, a fallen angel.
He once was good, but fell. However, he now lives doing what he wants, carefree. Living the dream.
We have fallen. But we desperately want to live the dream. Any dream. Anything but this.
So we look up to him.
Maybe that's why we may seem a little dark, or pessimistic.
Maybe that's why we listen to the Devils music or find serenity in letting our feelings out artistically, physically or violently.
Because, if you're gonna do something, if you gonna fuck up and make a mistake, may as well do it fabulously.
Dramatically.
The only one judging is the world, so go big.
And when you get the chance, smile.
Laugh.
Because once it's gone, once the moments gone, we're back in that hell hole.
Because of that word that we repeated to ourselves.