I hate me.
you have no idea how much.
I lie to everyone constantly, including myself.
I sit in that same sodding chair in the freezing cold city library every afternoon because I'm too scared to go home, too scared to wander around the shops in cuba mall, too afraid to ask to tag along.
What makes me hate myself even more, is that I know that I should be okay with who I am.
When a kid says: "I'm so bad at blahblahblah", usually it's a cry for attention, they know they're good and want even MORE recognition for it.
But I don't think like that. I can't convince myself I don't suck for more than ten minutes to half an hour at a time.
You'll see me, smiling and happy, wandering off into the sunkissed city, but what you don't know is that as soon as I step into the shadows my fears come at me and tear at me like 101 little dogs.
You don't see me at night, hiding from the monsters in my head; fighting them off with loud, angry music.
You don't see me, thundering down the footpath, desperately trying to become thin.
You don't feel my regret as I push away that plate of pasta, the anger as I dig my nails into my arms and hands, angry red marks that sting like hell, but vanish from sight in any time from eight to eleven hours.
You don't see me, fighting my tears as I look out over the city, the sweet music of a choir in my head that I long to join in with, but I'm too afraid of getting hurt, of being cut for not being good enough. Of being laughed at for not being good enough. Of being looked down on, and sneered at.
I'll never have as much courage as the others, posting their imperfections on that site, so I guess this is the next best thing.
you have no idea how much.
I lie to everyone constantly, including myself.
I sit in that same sodding chair in the freezing cold city library every afternoon because I'm too scared to go home, too scared to wander around the shops in cuba mall, too afraid to ask to tag along.
What makes me hate myself even more, is that I know that I should be okay with who I am.
When a kid says: "I'm so bad at blahblahblah", usually it's a cry for attention, they know they're good and want even MORE recognition for it.
But I don't think like that. I can't convince myself I don't suck for more than ten minutes to half an hour at a time.
You'll see me, smiling and happy, wandering off into the sunkissed city, but what you don't know is that as soon as I step into the shadows my fears come at me and tear at me like 101 little dogs.
You don't see me at night, hiding from the monsters in my head; fighting them off with loud, angry music.
You don't see me, thundering down the footpath, desperately trying to become thin.
You don't feel my regret as I push away that plate of pasta, the anger as I dig my nails into my arms and hands, angry red marks that sting like hell, but vanish from sight in any time from eight to eleven hours.
You don't see me, fighting my tears as I look out over the city, the sweet music of a choir in my head that I long to join in with, but I'm too afraid of getting hurt, of being cut for not being good enough. Of being laughed at for not being good enough. Of being looked down on, and sneered at.
I'll never have as much courage as the others, posting their imperfections on that site, so I guess this is the next best thing.
That is beautiful writing! Again I say, you are brilliant! Don't belittle yourself... One of my favorite mottos is you are not allowed to insult your self, only I am allowed to insult you... Please stick to that...
ReplyDeleteGood luck with finding your mystery reader.
:)