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It was just another day, something simple. A thing I've been through again and again. It was supposed to be easy, with school canceled.
But I couldn't help but wonder why. Why I was the way I was, and so on. I felt tired and drained, but couldn't figure out the cause or reason, so I'd just try to reason with myself and tell myself I was dramatic. That is what I am.
I should be able to handle these things, we all can. I'm capable. I'm capable enough to simply feed myself, or clean my house, or even use hygiene while I have the materials right in front of me.
So why do I feel that I don't deserve what's in front of me? Why won't I just get up and do these simple tasks?
I barely understand why I feel so stupid and horrible when my parents are around. Tense when my dad would yell, annoyed when he'd change the rules over and over again, yet never follow them himself.
It was meant to be easy, to handle everything. I had been through harder, worse times. So I didn't get why I felt so tense and short of breath when I heard slammed doors and my parents yelling.
And every time my dad gets upset about us not completing simple tasks that he claims could be finished in 5 minutes, he'll always bring up how he works and works and he's always tired, but still gets it done. It made me annoyed, but also useless. I felt like I would never be enough.
It was probably true.
Feeling like I am was enough, is was difficult. Though I always felt stupid. Again and again, every time I had a thought that was simply shut out.
I was aware there were people who believed and trusted me, making me feel loved and saying I am enough. But did it really count, when I couldn't see what they did? When I felt like a fraud whenever they said something that didn't match up to what I think of myself.
It was hard to well, whether I was masking it all, or if it just all refused to show. Those times words just got caught up in my throat, and the others when tears refused to show or simply weren't loud enough to be heard.
All I could think about, was how easy I had. How much worse everything could be, and I told myself that it made me feel better. But, oh how I only wished the fact weren't true and was at the same time.
I didn't want others to hurt, while I overreacted to my silly small situation that would end. I wouldn't take myself seriously, even if I sometimes had thoughts.
Although, I said I could never imagine dying, I would feel okay if on the way to school, crossing the same street I always took, in the exact same spot, that maybe one day, one time, the cars wouldn't stop. Wouldn't allow me to pass.
Or maybe, I sometimes imagined when pressing the blade on my skin, what would happen if I went a little deeper.
But, it wasn't like I could would.
Tomorrow, I'd still be here, laughing when I get to school, in bed when I get home. Nothing ever changed, and I knew it wouldn't. Not until I left for good.