Can I just say that I'm so sksbskshksbsksns bc it was yoongi's birthday and my baby is growing up I CANT OANSLSBJSBS OK
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It is so fucking exhausting.
I'm not saying i'm giving up but some days the ground threatens to open up and swallow me in and I almost let it. I'm not saying it's gotten really bad again but I don't think I remember the last time I ate all three meals without feeling my insides twist onto themselves and threaten to leave. I'm not saying I've lost myself completely because some days I can still laugh with my friends and mean it but I still come home to my chest bursting with all its emptiness. I'm not saying I'm too sad because some people make me happy but when they're not around, I can't exist on my own anymore. I'm not saying I'm suicidal but I wouldn't mind if I got killed. What I'm saying is that I can't admit that I am more broken that ever, because saying it makes it real, saying it makes all this hurt real. And it's not getting better. No matter how many times I tell myself that it will get better, I know thats not happening anytime soon. Because at the end of the day, I'm always on the cold tiled bathroom floor, questioning my existence. And I'm tired of doing that. I'm tired of trying to keep myself alive. What's the point of it? Everyday is a daily reminder of fucking useless I am and how I'm a complete failure and it hurts. It hurts so bad, I can't breathe. And I can't make this feeling go away because just looking at myself makes me want to break the mirror into pieces because of the ugly person that stares back at me with those empty eyes. It sets me on edge; how vulnerable and fragile I am.
I sigh tiredly, running a hand through my hair as I turned to look at the mirror. The same mirror I had been staring blankly at for the past 15 minutes but at that time, I was too pre-occupied with my own thoughts to look at myself. My breathing staggered as I stared at my reflection. The bags under my eyes looks more prominent than ever, and I knew if I didn't start covering them up with makeup, everyone would be asking questions. There was an empty and hollow look in my eyes, almost like a faraway look. It was then that I realised how my eyes looked so dull, like all the life had been sucked out of them. My skin looked pale and fragile, cheekbones really visible now. I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that my ribs and hipbones were sticking out. I was losing weight. And I think it's sad how that's the one thing that actually makes me happy.
I'm not okay and I know that. I think I accepted that fact a long time ago. But I can't talk to anyone about it. The thing is, there is no easy way to say that the best dreams I have are the ones in which I die. There's no easy way to say that I hate myself for not having the courage to leap in front of moving cars. Nothing in my life is ever easy and I fucking hate it. Looking at the other members makes me want to break down and cry because I can't imagine what that kind of happiness would feel like, the one you can see glowing on their faces when I can't even force a laugh properly without choking. It's not something I can just over look because I can't remember the person I was before. I guess I could say that I miss knowing what I'm feeling. Everything's so blurry these days, you know? I can't remember last Thursday any more than I can remember the Thursday before that. I can hardly remember the days of the week anymore.
I wish that I knew what the fuck I was doing. I wish I knew why I wake up everyday, and I keep going and going, even though it's unbearable most of the time. I wish I fucking knew why everything got so hard. I wish I knew why I got sad. God, what the fuck is that? What the fuck is this "sadness". It doesn't feel like anything I know but it's the most familiar thing I've ever experienced. It feels like there's this ache. This soul-ripping and excruciating ache that's taken a hold of every part of me. I don't fucking remember the last time I felt okay. Happiness feels like some kind of distant and unreachable concept that I'm supposed to somehow get to, even when it feels like I'm taking two steps back every day that I spend living like this. I wish I had more control of how my life is going and I wish I knew why things just keep happening. I wish I knew how the fuck to love myself in the skin that I'm constantly trying to rip apart. See, I'd write a list of all the things I don't have a control on anymore, but I think that list would go on for pages, and nobody wants to fucking read that. Not sure when everything started, but I'm pretty sure I've had enough of it.
