hello, i'm megan.
I feel empty, without feelings. I try to care and I don't. I broke down earlier, and everyone around me thought it was for a reason that it wasn't. I hate failure. It defines me.
Physical and verbal abuse are both very serious things. I've been able to take the taunting from this boy at school for about a year now, but today it got physical. The bruise on my arm is blue.
My phyciatrist put me on a different type on antidepressants that are supposed to work. I know better. If I take them I just feel numb. I say dumb things. I speak my mind.
It's kind of funny how a simple, innocent gesture can make you feel okay. Make you feel as though it's all going to be alright. This idea of love, of safeness, it's intriguing to me..
Hi, Opuss. In about thirty minutes, my mother will have my phone in her possession.
It's funny how just a couple years ago my image of beauty was a princess. A pretty girl all dolled up in her finest clothes for a ball. In this present time I find beauty in other places.
It's late at night. The house is quiet. All the members of my family have been asleep for hours. It's now that I sneak a glance in the mirror. Take a look at what I've been avoiding all day.
I think I'm falling in love. It's scaring me to death. I've only ever been in love one time and it did not end well. I'm afraid to fall. Afraid to trust. Afraid to let someone in.
I thought I was doing ok. I was decent for three days. Not happy, but not feeling suicidal and wishing I were dead. The voices screamed, but not as loud. Today I feel empty.
I honestly thought I could do it. I thought I'd be okay alone. I convinced myself I would be. This week I've lost three of my best friends, as well as a guy I liked, and I'm not okay. It's not okay.
Ana whispers in my ear unmercifully. "You're pathetic." she says. Her voice becomes louder as she degrades me. My stomach churns at the sight of the food in front of me.
Disappointed, as always. I try, I swear, I try to be successful at being a person. I try so hard. I don't know why I can't make this work..
Four failed suicide attempts. Tens of secrets. Numerous scars. Thousands of dark thoughts. One fake smile..
I want to talk. These feelings need to be released instead of piling up inside me, killing me from the inside. I try to talk.
I'm tired of being told I'm needed and then being pushed to the side. If you needed me, you'd make an effort to be around me, talk to me, text me, or simply look at me for gods sake.
If you must leave me, just go. Go away and do not speak to me again. But do not come back and leave over and over. That hurts me a lot..
I'm tired of trying to talk about it. I've reached out and it got me nowhere but several miles back from the starting point. My decision has been made, I'm going to stop trying to get help.
This morning my therapist said I was acting different. She asked me if I'd relapsed. It's not technically relapse if you never stopped to begin with..
My life is just one disappointment after motherfucking disappointment..
How was your day. she asks. Her voice is timid. She speaks as though her words could make me shatter. Maybe they could. It was fine. I answer. I'm not lying. I'm my own definition of fine..
Your tunnel is long and stern. It does not wind, does not include turns. This tunnel is straight, it leads on many miles. You continue down it, bearing a smile. As you travel, you become discouraged.
Cold creeps over me like an unwelcome visitor. This is not weather anymore. It is not a feeling. This cold comes from deep within my heart..
I just need a friend..
Can someone please explain to me how in the hell I singlehandedly fuck up everything I need and love the most. Hobbies, friendships, anything, everything.
That's the end of that..
I need a change in scenery, a break from all that is familiar..
Being replaced, they say, hurts the most. In my opinion, what hurts the most was never being number one anyway..
Tonight is one of those nights where drunk numbness is better than pain. Goodbye..
I would just like to know why I cannot do anything right..
Eat, they tell me, just eat. It's not that easy, though..
I just want to sleep for a few days. I want nothing more than that. For the past week I've slept for about an hour every night. Sleeping pills seem great right now in a multitude..
the later it gets, the louder my thoughts..
the voice inside tells her it's wrong as she listens to a triggering song she doesn't listen, she cries her tears she's perfected her act over the years the blade slides across, this time too deep...
Your question comes out empty. You're asking only out of curiosity, not concern. "Are you okay?" you ask. The words in my throat are held back. Many words go through my mind.
It is perfection that I seek, but what is perfection. Some might say perfection is the length of your hair, or the number on the scale. Maybe it is the beauty in your face or the clothes you wear.