I'm tired.
I'm tired and I want to scream and shout and tear myself to pieces.
My will is hell bent on self-destruction, it terrifies me how much I loathe myself...
It terrifies me that even after nearly six years I'm still the same broken little girl I was when this all began, deep down I'm made of shards of glass.
My insides are ugly ugly ugly, I wish I could turn myself inside out and take a brillo pad to my stomach to my lungs to my heart and to every organ I've mangled and damaged with my self-hatred self-punishment.
Beneath this smile, this charade is a darkness few have seen. Ugly dirty things lie beneath my surface and I never claimed I was sane.
Does this scare you? My ramblings, my inner battle between good and bad where bad always prevails? It should.
Over the years I've perfected my habits, I refined them, re-dressed them as something sophisticated something one might overlook. I traded my razorblades and scars for far deadlier weapons, I quietly re-molded my disorder, my chaos.
Now no one can see what I'm planning, because they don't know what to look for...
In time, I will wreck myself with everything that was meant for you.
In time, the muffled cries of my disease will be heard...
- H.
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