after a hurricane comes a rainbow

I’ve grown so cold as I’ve grown older. I’ve pushed people out because I just can’t deal with anything anymore.

I’m constantly between almost happy and almost suicidal.

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.

I want to be happy, I just don’t know how.

I’m tired of breaking all the promises I can’t keep, and loving the ones who don’t love me.

When I see a picture of cuts, the room spins. My ears get hot, and I hear a loud ringing. My chest wells up, my craving kicks in. I want, need, release. I want the pop of the skin, the gap after the blade, the gushing of blood, the panic when I think it won’t stop. I would even deal with the guilt after, just for the momentary high of cutting.

I’ll never feel good enough for anybody. Not my parents, not my best friend, no one. I’m a nuisance and a waste of time.

Do you even care that I can barely breathe? That all I want is to break out from my skin and watch from above? No. You don’t. You care that I put on a good show and let everybody think I’m okay.

I sometimes think that maybe, there isn’t anyone out there for me.

I wonder if anybody would notice if I slowly disappeared