I know what it's like. Being you. The depression and pain. I know exactly what it feels like. I know what it's like to feel worthless. To be the one crying herself to sleep at night. Alone. Scared. To have nobody care about you. And it hurts. So bad. So you try to take the pain away. And as soon as that sharp razer blade touches your wrist, you feel relief. Comfort. So you do it more and more, because it helps you let it all out. It's pain you can control. And then, one day, you hit vein. What will you do then? You'll bleed unceasingly on the bathroom floor, wishing you never did it, regretting that first cut. You know you're dying. But then again, it was what you wanted from the start, to die. Soon enough, your mother comes in, shreiking. Panting. Crying. Weeping. Hurting. And your friends, the ones you thought "didn't care", their lives have stopped. Daddy has depression, little brother cries himself to sleep. You are better than this. Just because you don't see the love doesn't mean it's not there.
It's always there.
i wrote this over a year ago, when I was going through some major stuff.