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Sitting here thinking about things, I find myself slipping again; Slipping farther and farther away from who I am, or at least feel like I am most of the time. I feel my reality and all that goes with it slowly fall away. Once again I’m fighting. I’m fighting myself and no one else. So many different voices fill my head with doubt, with love, with regret. It’s more than I can take. They never silence. Not even when I’m asleep. In dreams, they’re worse. I can see them, and they’re tearing each other apart. Slowly, painfully, piece by piece, they’re dying. Eventually, they’ll be no more left of them. They’ll be no more left of me. There’ll be just an empty shell. A lifeless being who’s fought herself for so long that she finally self-destructed.



This is why I can’t be alone with myself. Why I occupy my time with school and sports and drugs. The only thing worse than death, is knowing that you’re killing yourself. That is what I’m doing. Tearing myself apart, little by little.