The pressure of my headphones on my head is strangely soothing.
I know I should loosen them, that they are too tight
But that same pressure is a constant
Unlike everything else.
You say you feel the way about him
And I say I don’t want to hear about it.
I don’t, I really don’t.
I tell you I love you, and you tell me about someone else.
You don’t text me back
And you leave me wondering
Is this really so broken?
Are we really so far apart, when we used to be inseparable?
We’re just a couple of teenagers
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I am good at pretending
I am a better actor than you
Because I act like I can forget my issues
With love and life and depression and school and family
Because I have shit that I still haven’t worked through
And I don’t know if I will.
Less than a year, there have been 1.6 mass murders per week
If you average them, of course.
And that makes me think, I am done with the world
If I have to live in a place where people are killing other people
Innocent children and their own parents
Then maybe, though it pains you to hear it,
Maybe I don’t want to live here anymore.
I want to be skinny and beautiful
But I want to be loved for my smarts and my humor.
I sometimes want to commit suicide
But I think that people who do are selfish.
I don’t want to be depressed or anxious
But I won’t take my meds.
I want my love to love me too
But I want to be as far away from him as possible.
I am a living contradiction.
Is that why things are so hard?
(Also posted on sometimesrosewrites)