I sit here in a darkened room consumed with fear in the aftermath.
Exiled from my bed, a shaking, shivering wreck. I know that you hate me – I’ve known it for quite some time.
If we didn’t have such a sting tie to each other, you’d have been gone years ago.
I’m an endless source of disappointment from the daily mundane tasks that I fail at, my incompetence only grows. I always try to fix things but this inevitably makes things worse.
I see the rage building inside you, and I know that I’m deserving of your anger, I don’t want it to be like this and I keep trying to change.
I feel so alone right now, those familiar dark feelings are sweeping over me. I am the source of all that’s bad. I’m thinking about it again, would it be the best thing to do?
My fear of death is thus far greater than the urge.
So here I am alone, feeling unworthy.
I’ve been feeling sick for a while but don’t want to go to the Doctors and waste their time.
I wish I could just sleep everything away. I’m exhausted.
The brave face I put on to get through the day is making me weary. I long for the darkness to hold me, hiding me from view. Only here in the darkness does the voice inside my head subside.
My inner self is who I hide from most.