She fought and she fought, for years on end. Ever since she could remember, actually.
When others gave up, she was there to help them fight, too.
Alas, all the fighting and not a whole lot of winning can cause an awful lot of dismay in a person.
But what really hurt her, the thing she could not stand the most – was that because she had been fighting for so long, no one seemed to recognise it anymore.
And when she struggled, few were there like she was there.
The pain I feel is unmeasurable to anything I have ever felt before.
Yet, I hide it.
Purely for the sake of others, much to my dismay.
For when you open up to a person you become vulnerable, and when that happens, they can break your heart ten times over with a sentence. Or even a lackthereof.
And I’m not sure which hurts more, but I do know they both hurt an awful lot.
So I guess me hiding my internal suffering is a sort of defense mechanism, because my mind can’t take anymore crushing blows while it’s in the state it’s in.
Through all the pain,
all the torment of the mind,
arose a stronger me.
and then I continued to fight.
All in order,
to save myself from myself.
Some days are just that little bit more difficult than the others, you know?
It’s almost inexplicable the way it happpens.
One day, you’re absolutely fine. You can sustain what feels like a nice life, alas, it can disappear overnight.
And when it disintegrates, and you have a bad day, it’s as if your whole life is bad. Which is understandable in a way, because being entirely consumed by negative thoughts and voices shouting to end it all – well, that’s damaging.
She was withering under all the pressure.
Her heart set alight with passion, but no way to pursue the fire, as it was constantly being doused out.
She was hypervigilant always and ever so tired from it all.
It was as if mental illness succumbed her entire being, at times.
Trauma was calling the shots and it seemed a lot like it would never end for her.
I know you mean well and you have my best interests at heart,
but my dear,
it seems I have entirely fallen apart.
I am shattered glass that you could easily cut yourself on if you tried to fix me,
and I just want to make it clear,
how much I adore thee.
Even when my heart grows hardened and I’m unbearable to around,
and you’re there without a frown.
The voices tell me I should give it up,
but I don’t listen,
because you’re always there to tell them to shut up.
The voices in my head are far more dreadful, far more nasty, than the words that are spoken by any other human being.
If you could hear what I hear, you’d know I’m not really worth it.