My mother watched me take my medication and I took it. Because I am weak. I am afraid.
I realise how ugly I’ve become. How unloveable. How invisible. There is nothing to me. I am just an empty page and there are no words. No words. I wish I had some words I could keep in my pocket to remind me I’m real. I’m alive. There are blades in my room and I need to start using them again. More than a few cuts every once in a while. I need to punish myself for being so mediocre. Not worth it.