Warning: Possible triggers (Including mentions of suicide, self-harm, anxiety, and eating disorders.)
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Oh, hello,
I don't believe I've met you.
Allow me to introduce myself,
I'm Danny.
But don't call me that around my parents,
They still don't know the real me,
Sometimes I wonder how I keep track of all the lies I've told them,
Things like, "I'm a girl," "I'm doing better," "I'm fine."
Lies that scorch my throat,
As they come tumbling off my tongue.
Let's not mention the fact that I still have no idea what I am,
A boy? A girl? Both? Neither?
"Who knows he still doesn't know."
Or that I would probably make you nervous if we met in person,
Fingers, always tap, tap, tapping,
Nervous energy,
Constant movement.
You'd see me as the kid who never stopped moving,
Whose eyes never stop darting around,
Who can't look someone in the eye for more than 3 seconds,
Because what if they can see into the broken, dark parts of me?
What if I'm so transparent,
they can see every flaw? Every failure?
Or that I'm the kid with the crush on the one person he shouldn't have a crush on?
And everyone probably knows by now,
And probably hates me by now,
So it doesn't really matter anyway,
But I can't even get up the courage talk to them because it might ruin everything,
And they might leave me,
And I can't even think about being left alone again because otherwise I'll start to break down because I can't stand to be alone with my thoughts,
Because they'll tear me apart molecule by molecule.
Or that it doesn't matter if I'm alone anyway,
Because I couldn't talk to them anyway,
Their lives are so much worse,
Who am I to constantly want to end my life?
Who am I to constantly feel alone?
Who am I to constantly feel like all of my joy is being sucked into the black void inside my chest?
Who am I to want to open a vein to let the pain just bleed out?
When I probably have it so much better.
Or that I'm a hypocrite,
Because I tell everyone that they need to talk to someone,
But I can't even utter a word of what's really going on in my head,
Because they probably won't believe me,
Or maybe they'll think I'm just seeking attention.
Or that I can't even help the people who come to me,
That I probably make it worse,
That I probably hurt people more than I help.
Or that everyone would probably been better off if I hadn't existed at all.
Or that I'm not special.
Or that I want to reach inside myself and cut out the parts that I hate,
But then there wouldn't be anything left.
Or that I cry over stupid things,
Like the fact that I feel too fat,
That I feel like I need to eat less.
Or that I'm selfish enough to think,
That I might be important enough to my friends,
So that they might think of me the way I think of them.
Or that I'm super clingy and annoying,
But also push them away when they get too close to the darker parts of me.
Or that I'm stupid enough to think it's not obvious,
That my smiles are becoming more and more forced.
Or that I know it's obvious I'm getting worse,
And that I'm probably making people uncomfortable because of it,
But I don't know how to fix it.
So yeah,
I'm Danny,
How are you?
