It hurts.
It hurts to breathe, to exist.
To see what could have been me if I wasn't such a fuck up.
To watch people who are everything I'm not.
To sit here in so much pain, yet be unable to do anything about it.
To be the strong, silent one. To help everyone while saying nothing about myself.
No, I'm fine. No, I don't want to talk about sitting there crying for a half hour with a razor in my hand, trying to convince myself not to do it. No, I don't want to talk about how much it fucking hurts and how I want to crawl out of my skin. No, I don't want to talk about how i'm having a hard time finding the point to everything. No, I don't want to talk about how I'm having a hard time remembering my reasons. Or how pretty the bath tub would look completely painted bright red.
Really.
I'm fine.
...I wish there was something anyone could do to help me, but there isn't.
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