there is nothing beautiful about graying hair falling out constantly, waking up to a full head of hair but losing chunks in the shower
there is nothing beautiful about crying, crying so hard that you can’t breathe, that you throw up nothing because you haven’t eaten all day
there is nothing beautiful about not being able to breathe, about being unable to catch your breath and not even knowing why
there is nothing beautiful about crushing insecurities and being clingy and paranoia and a constant need of reassurance and not even being able to trust yourself, your thoughts
there is nothing beautiful about bleeding, so much blood all the time, thinking about blood, needing to see blood just to know that you’re still living because you feel so dead inside
there is nothing beautiful about scabs on knuckles, or scars on wrists
there is nothing beautiful about wishing for death
there is nothing beautiful about dying a little more every day
there is nothing funny about being unable to go to sleep at night without checking that the door is locked eighteen times
there is nothing funny about not being able to get a quiet moment inside of your mind for two minutes
there is nothing funny about crying over something that seems so little to you, but to me it’s just another reminder of how i can’t do anything right
there is nothing funny about being here physically but being so far away mentally, nothing funny about people constantly waving their hands in front of your face asking hello? is there anyone in there? and there’s nothing funny about not being even being sure
there is nothing funny about intrusive thoughts that terrify you to the point where you’re afraid to go to bed at night
there is nothing funny about sleepless nights and being unable to get out of bed when the sun rises
when did the sun rise? i don’t remember even lying down - how long have i been like this? why hasn’t anyone asked if i’m okay?
there’s nothing funny about not being okay
there is nothing funny about dying slowly each and every day
mental illness is not beautiful, so do not romanticize it
mental illness is not funny, so do not use it as a punchline
do not make light of my struggles, do not tell me i am overreacting, do not call me crazy, do not tell me something i do not already know, something i have probably heard at least a hundred times from myself alone
do not look at me like that, do not pity me, do not abandon me when it gets to be too hard for you - because if it’s hard for you, imagine just how fucking hard it is for me
do not tell me i’m beautiful when there is vomit around my lips, when there is scars on my hips, when there my eyes are dark and red from crying or lack of sleep, i’m not sure which
do not tell me it’s funny when i act on impulse, when i hear voices that you don’t hear, when my compulsions keep me from completing the most basic human tasks
don’t laugh when i try to talk about it
don’t tell me it’s beautiful when i tell you what i’m going through
i’m not trying to make a joke
and i’m not trying to be beautiful
i just want someone to listen.
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