Adda.

TW: suicidal ideation.

[heartlesscoeur]

I believe death is over me because it is every landscape inside my brain. The obsession grew too far, and I’m still that child in Geography Class who thought about needles in bodies and decapitated people, while the other kids lived like normal seven-year-olds. The Brain can’t hold an idea without wishing to destroy it. It obeys to clasp hands together and fix clocks, while all I can do is hit my head against the wall again.

[heartlesscoeur]

People still use OCD as an adjective while I’m obeying my head, ignoring all my plans that will ruin the day, and accepting rules, just so that my kid won’t die earlier than I do. While I’m 21, in college, and don’t even have a fucking kid yet.

[heartlesscoeur]

Little world full of empty people. If one more was added, no one would realize. If a thousand go away, nobody cares.

The Earth was perfect, and yet here we are, doing our absolute best in destroying every little thing. We are now being sent away, as it can’t take us anymore. We are too much, even though we are too little.

[heartlesscoeur]

Wow. And here I thought I was something. A friend, a sister, a talented writer, a teacher. Nah, I was just a pretty person, that’s all that ever mattered. And now that I’m not pretty anymore, I’m nothing. And I might never close my eyes again.

[heartlesscoeur]

So long, goodbye.

The words that will be written on your stone, they will hurt everyone. That short difference of years, that will break everyone’s hearts.

People will look and wonder what happened, why that one person went away so young, but ultimately it won’t matter.

Because this is it. Everything has finished. This is how it ends.

[heartlesscoeur]

Drink your lungs out, man.

[heartlesscoeur]

Ah, the day you finally do it. On that day they will still not understand. No one will ever understand what it is like to have a head like yours. Possibly the most dangerous place in the whole world, that little mind that leads you. They’ll never know what doing your best to escape death every day feels like.

But again, you don’t deserve for them to know. The day you do it will be the day everything becomes fine. You were never meant to be with them for too long.

[heartlesscoeur]

I’m not meant to be alive anymore yet here I am, just hanging here because of other people and the sun that appears for twelve hours on each day.

I can’t write, I can’t do the thing I was born to do, because my body doesn’t know how to stay alive, my head can’t stand being awake because all it wants is to be away.

Help me. The medication is not enough.

[heartlesscoeur]

Can’t write. I just want to be able to write. I JUST WANT TO BE ABLE TO DO MY FUCKING PURPOSE.

[heartlesscoeur]

I look at the screen and there is nothing I can do, no one I can talk to. I pushed everyone I could away, and I keep destroying myself until there is nothing meaningful left, until I am just a dot in the family tree, someone who never aged past twenty-two.

I am sent people that do not care, and I am trying to scream my lungs out while in silence, like the stupid person that I have always decided to be. God is not real and if he is then he hates me, and loved torturing me as I cry about everyone I know, being aware that I’m wrecking everyone, that I’m ruining their existence just by being alive.

I want to die.

[heartlesscoeur]

I still remember the way it tasted, the way it burned my throat as it killed me slowly, all while saving me from dying.

I remember death. I remember how close I got to being surrounded by it. Thinking at night, I wonder: was it wrong to survive?

[heartlesscoeur]

I just want to go back to the ground that grew me, disappearing inside it with metal around me. I want to meet my death, because that’s the only thing this curious world owes me.

[heartlesscoeur]

I don’t love you yet and it boils my blood that I don’t care enough about you. I don’t know you yet and I don’t know if I ever will, because I made you come into my life with strength I don’t own anymore, and with a certainty that just isn’t real, and maybe never was.

I’m sorry, I always say that. But I don’t know how to feel about you.

[heartlesscoeur]

What used to be mine was taken away from me without warning. Without any way to stop it. And without any doors to escape. What life said it held for me was not actually true, and it was one more of its traps, it’s really structured ways to get inside a life, ways to break a heart apart.

The way my blood boils is never going to be mean enough to repay what has been done towards me. As my head aches my chest breathes and waits for justice to be made. Because if there is one thing I know, is that no one deserves a broken heart.

[heartlesscoeur]

How many words are there to be said? If someone knew, would they still speak? Or would they stay silent in fear of facing a fate worse than the expected?

If I never speak, will I be okay? Will things still work out and… am I ever going to be loved?

How many words can my own words create? How many hearts can I change?

What is the measurement of my speaking?

[heartlesscoeur]

Don’t know what normal is anymore, because even the most bizarre of things have stuck to my brain, and this is now, whether I want it or not, who I am inside.

The words are too many, the adjectives are endless. I just can’t seem to figure out which fit each situation. I just feel my personality drowning away…

[heartlesscoeur]

If only I could. If only I was able to be free, feeling the wind rush through my hair as I get hit by the train. It would finally feel real, the leaves would fall, and so would tears for me. But it is alright, because I’d finally be okay. I’d finally have a reason to smile.

I’d be gone.