^Exit Stage Right

I'm just sitting here, alone, in the silent darkness and thinking about who I am. All these years I've always blamed God for my misfourtunes, but now I understand. The problem is me. Why does this world need me? I've already blown all my chances at a happy future with my overly care free, but somehow constantly panicked personality. My friends ditched me, my family thinks I'm a waste of space, and I especially hate myself. Everything   about me is... awful…

I now understand I am the real problem here. I am a terrible person, in every aspect. I have long, bony, alien fingers. My arms are overly skinny and the bone shows through them at certain points. My face has more craters than the surface of the moon, my teeth are completely screwed up, my hair makes me look like I was attacked by a rabid racoon, I'm somehow still fat despite the issues with my arms, my legs are flabby and weird, my feet are elongate and my toe nails are literally sharpened (not intentional), as well as really hairy and dirty. I'm the ugliest you can get, the absolue bottom of the barrel.

I fucked up everything

But why?

Why did i do this?

And at this point, I wonder if I can even change. I wonder if there's even a point to changing.

And at this point why bother?

I might as well just stick to my guns and make the best of it, right?

I think my biggest issue is that I'm not open in the right ways, I'll be the first to openly admit I have an erection in the middle of class, but I'll never admit I want to take my own life.

I could whine hear about it, but what's the point?

It almost feels scripted, I can predict exactly what they're going to tell me and when they're going to tell me.

I shouldn't feel this way, this isn't what people want. They don't want to hear me whine, they want me to laugh. But I just can't, I'm mentally broken, I'm beyond repair.

I really wish you and everyone else gear would give up just like everyone i know irl did.

You always keep trying, you always convince me everything is going to be ok. Why? What do you see in me that makes staying alive worth it? I have nothing to bring to the table, nothing to leave the world with.

I've accepted I will die alone, and I will be forgotten, almost everyone is the later, not so much the former. But that doesn't mean I want it any less, I really don't want to see the faces of the people I love in grief, but would they ever care in the first place? Or would they rightfully laugh and rejoice, now that I'm out of the picture?

I'm clutching the blade of a knife right now in between my fingers, I won't suicide, but I have an urge to feel pain.

But no matter how hard I clutch it I can't draw blood, I'm a fucking weak ass bitch. I just need to clutch harder.

It's leaving a heavy mark, but no blood.

Is this some kind of cruel joke?

I fucking hate this

I guess this is more of a rant than existential poem, but they sure as hell feel the same.

I am morbidly insane, earlier today I heard voices in the wind, i couldn't make out what they were saying, but they sounded like voices.

Unlike before, where they were always a part of thoughts, here they sounded close. It felt like there was actually somebody there, talking to me.

Even though I couldn't make out what this non existent voice was saying, it still felt like it was there.

It was the most surreal thing I've ever felt.

I talk to myself when I'm alone. The things I say put me in tears.

They are not nice things

Usually its about how much better this world would be without me.

It scares me

But it feels like truth

But a part of me doesn't want to do that, otherwise I would never come to you or the other members. It's a cry for help.

Or is it?

Or am I just whining?

I've decided next time I won't say anything. That way, there is no changing my mind, but that day is not today, for better or worse.

But really though, is this all in my head?

Am I that delusional, that I'd whine to a bunch of other depressed people for sympathy?

Not sympathy

For pity

I am a pitiful fool trapped in a world I loathe.

And I can't escape it

Every time I look in the mirror I want to shoot myself in the fucking head.

I'm hideous

I wish I could just discard my face all together, along with the rest of me.

But that's not an option

And won't ever be

Because no matter how hard I try

I can't run away from my own mind