after a hurricane comes a rainbow

If I killed myself, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about me for a long time. But there’s this small, selfish, part of me that wants my death to be more than a tumblr post. I feel like I have to prove something. But I’m nothing special.

It doesn’t matter how long we’re apart, I’ll always feel at home when I’m with you.

he held my arm and traced my scars, cursing to himself that it’s all his fault.

It’s nice to have someone to talk to, but there’s something different about the silence when you’re crying and they hold you. They’re saying everything you need to hear, without even saying anything.

that awkward moment when you’re with a group of people, but only one friend knows your depressed and everyone else starts talking about suicide and depression and you avoid eye contact and fall silent.

I push you away because it’s easier than talking about myself.

I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’m sorry I’m not the happy person you want me to be. I’m sorry I lie to you about what and how I’m doing. I’m sorry I’m this monster. I’m so sorry.

I just don’t see a future for me. I can’t picture myself seeing the world, getting a job, settling down. It’s terrifying to think about getting through certain things. Partly because I just don’t want to make it through anymore.

Not strong enough to try and get better, not strong enough to kill myself.

I know I’m not the first to feel like this. I know there are people in worse conditions than me. I know I seem ungrateful for the things I have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for wanting to die.