Same shit, different day.

I just wanted to be happy. But all I got was problems.

I'm scared of people and relationships because I always seem to get hurt (I can think of a few names I'd like to list here...). And now I feel like it's only a matter of time until I lose everything.
Yet, I want to feel something. I want someone to care. But I can't trust anymore and I feel like I'm just annoying people with my problems, because they're always the same

> Same shit, different day.

And that's what depression is, isn't it? Same shit. Different day. That poxy mental illness I copped as a result of years of bullying that ultimately lead to my fears and worries concerning relationships. And then of course, there's all that extra bullshit that holds depression's hands and cuts me down further. I cut myself. I run blades along my skin because I believe, in some perverse and sadistic way, that I'm helping myself. And I believe that. So I cut myself so much in a localised area that if often hurts to move. It often hurts to sleep. Hell, it often hurts to wear clothes. And then I'm anxious about all these things. Because, what if people found out? Could I deal with all that backlash? What if all my friends grow sick of me? What if they hate me? How come all these people have great family relationships, but when I examine mine - immediate and extended - I only find decay? I also hate me. Because I'm not good enough. 73kg is too much weight. I'm riddles with acne and a little bit scared of my one remaining treatment. I'm covered in scars. Sometimes, most of the time, I believe I'm ugly. And I must be because no one is interested. I'm imperfect. Damaged. My own body despises me. My lungs don't function normally, my heart has minute defects, my tends and ligaments torture me daily. Today I spent an hour and a half car trio shifting in my seat because I couldn't rest my patella tendons without causing myself extreme pain. No position was safe. And pain killers rarely work, and only in bordering unsafe dosages. Because the doctors who encouraged this level of use for a short time knocked out my tolerance levels and then told me all my pain was in my head.

> In my head.

Mental defects. I'm mentally defective. I'm jealous of happy people. I want that to be me. I want to feel things. I want to love. I want to trust. I want to fly. I want to be free.

> Freedom.

But I can't have that. I don't deserve it. I'm a terrible person. I'm weird. No one likes a weird person. Especially not a bad-weird person. I want so much.

> Want.

But I can't have it. I'll never have it. My insecurities bring me down every day. My jealousy impedes on my life. My bad feelings and gloom are my only constant companion. And no one understands.

> No one understands.

I can't even be helped properly because I'm too unique. And I'm costing my parents a fortune. It's money we don't really have. And they have enough problems without mine. Mental or otherwise. And this is the shit I deal with every single fucking day.

> Same shit. Different day.

Outwardly, I hold it together.

You'd really have no idea.

But inwardly... well that's why I bear these scars.

- Sky