Scared and scarred

I've relapsed. Relapsed hard.
My skin, is scarred. Not at scarred as my mind.
Ankles, thighs, hips, arms, wrists, knees. Everywhere basically.
It has become a habit. A bad habit. I'm scared of not being able to stop.
I'm aware of how addictive it is. But it's my addiction. My problem. My life. My way of surviving.
It calms me, and I like to look at it. As creepy as it sounds, the sight of blood, cuts, marks, scars, bruises - it's...how can I describe it? Calming? Maybe. I don't know how to put it.
If you're a self-harmer you probably know what I'm talking about. And yes, it's difficult to admit that I enjoy looking at such things, but I do.
A year went by. My scars had faded, and my mind had healed a little.
It's worse than ever now. My mind is bleeding, and so is my skin. My thoughts are black, and my days are black. My mood is dark, and my life is dark as well.
Searching for someone to talk to, but no ones there:
It's like screaming for help at the top of my lungs, but no one answers, they just act like nothing.
It's like drowning, and everyone is standing three feet away, and tell me to swim.
Hiding my depression in a way that I want someone to notice that I'm not well. Maybe it's buried too deep within. I wish that no one finds out, and I wish that someone does. It's contradiction.
Finger tips running up and down my arms. Thin lines break the smooth skin, like tiny little speed-bumps on a freshly paved road.
The shattered idea of a true love softly kissing my burning skin. Too romantic to ever come true.
Not much is ever going to come true. If anything. No sign of hope. No sign of anyone caring. What am I even doing here?

Dead or alive

Some people hate themselves, ok?
And some of us can't sleep at night, because our thoughts and burning skin are keeping us awake. Some of us don't know why we're alive. Why we are here, and what we should do. We just want someone to care about us. Some of us are disgusted by our own bodies. To the point where we just don't want to live in it anymore. We wonder why no one notices us. We wonder what it's like to be sincerely happy. We wonder how we ended up like this. Some of us torture ourselves with the thought of it all being our own fault. Some of us feel so unattractive that we want to cry. We regret everything we say two minutes after we said it, and can't stop thinking about the fact that we should have kept our mouth shut. Some of us people cut ourselves. That might be to feel something. Maybe even just because it helps. Some of us take pills. Why? I don't know? Because it takes away some sort of pain? Maybe. We tend to smoke a lot. We harm ourselves; we put scars on our naked bodies, and we fill up our untouched insides with smoke and drugs. We don't know how we can torment ourselves like that. We just do. And it comes natural to most of us. Some of us want this, some of us want that. But we need to realize that not all of us will make it out of this alive, but some of us will survive. Let's never forget that.
I'm not sure if we're dead or alive. We're dead, yet still breathing. We're lifeless, yet still awake.
But I know that some of us will some back to live some day.

2

 

I act like everything is fine. I laugh at people's jokes, I do silly things with my friends and I act like I have a carefree life. It's funny though. When I come back home, I just turn off that mental switch. Then suddenly I break down. I feel alone, empty, tired, I can't exactly describe how I feel into words. It's like I have 2 different me's. One for the public, and one for myself. Only if they knew. Only if. 

Absent eyes, fake smiles and lifeless laughter

No one is here for me. It would be best if I just ran away. And left everything behind.
I'm just sick of living this way, but too scared of dying.
I can't focus. I'm tired all the time, but I can't sleep. I always end up lying in bed, with tears streaming from my face to my pillow. And I'm not even that sad about anything. I just cry.
Something actually changed. Before, I felt nothing - but now; I'm in pain.
My hollow soul is filled with pain and guilt. Because I'm guilty of making myself feel this way.
I tell myself that I'm not good enough. Pretty enough. Skinny enough.
And I believe it.
It feels as though I'm drifting further and further away from shore.
And I'm falling apart. Control is slipping through my fingers.
Dying for someone to notice my absent eyes, fake smiles and lifeless laughter.
Just say my name. Just talk to me. Just note that I'm not okay.

Reach out to me

Everything knocks me down. I feel so fucking ridiculous for thinking I have a chance with anyone. As a friend, as family member, as a girlfriend. Feeling stupid for being depressed, when I'm not even being bullied in school. When I'm getting grades that are ok. When I have a great family.
I feel fucking worthless and forgettable because even though people know that I self-harm, they don't seem to care at all. No one asks me how I'm feeling or if I'm okay. It's almost a year ago I told most of my friends, and none of them have checked on me once. They probably forgot about my scars, and didn't notice that from 8th grade on I've worn long-sleeves. I don't even know if they ever think about me, or how I feel. They don't think about why I did it - do it - or how I felt when I did - do. Someone told me that she thinks people at school cares about me a lot. I don't believe it.
Hearing that, made me feel even worse. Because it made me think about how they actually couldn't care less. Hating myself more and more, for everyday that passes. How did I end up like this?
Wishing that depression was my faith, because I like the idea of that better, than the idea of it all being my fault. But it is. It's my fault that everything feels pointless, because I tell myself it is.
It's my own fault that I'm fat, because I eat when I'm bored (all the time)
Isn't it fucked up that I actually want to have an eating disorder?
Aren't I an idiot for desiring to cut open my skin, but not doing it so much anymore because I'm too afraid of regretting it  when I'm older and want to wear short-sleeve t-shirts?
Is it crazy that I love looking at my scars, bruises, cuts and the blood?
Am I abnormal for feeling as if I'm going to be sick and getting a headache when I think about my life? Is it weird that I refuse reaching out to people, because I'm convinced that if they want to talk to me, they will (they don't) And feeling knocked down every time I try to reach out.
I hate my body. I hate my face. I hate my voice. I hate my personality. I hate my self.
I don't cut because I want to die, I cut because I want to survive.

Dream come true? Never.

What happens now?
When I don't know what to do? Don't know who to talk to?
What to believe and what to think about anything. About you. About him. About them. About my self? Why do I feel so unwanted? I need someone to love, and to love me back. Not a friend at school, not my mom or dad, or a sibling, not someone from the internet. Someone whose shoulder I could rest on. Someone whose arms I could lie in. Someone whose lips I could kiss. Someone whose body I could caress. Someone whose thoughts I could connect with. Someone I could love.
But what is much more important; someone who wants me resting on his shoulder, lying in his arms, kissing his lips, caressing his body, connecting with his thoughts. Someone who loves me, and wants me. If I had such a relationship, I wouldn't worry about what happens next.
But I don't, so what happens now?
Waiting? Searching? Changing? Trying? I don't think any of that is going to change the fact that I'm not the type of girl you fall in love with.
I just want someone to prove that wrong. Someone to just walk into my life and show me that I am the type of girl you fall for.
As I have got my eyes on someone, they never seem to look back and like what they see.
Over and over that happens, but yet I keep on falling for someone who could never fall for me as well. I don't know why there still is that tiny beam of hope inside of me that dreams that someone will find me one day.
NOTICE ME. Anyone?

Never alone

If my misery is company I'm never alone.
If music is company I'm never alone.
If darkness of mind is company I'm never alone.
But don't go insane. Be stronger.
You're nothing without your mind.
Keep on dreaming. Of a better life.
A life without worrying about being good enough.
A life where I am good enough.
Everything I say.
Everything I do.
Everything about how I look.

That is my dream.

But for now its: my misery, music, and darkness of mind.