I can’t do this.

Today, I didn’t leave the comfort of my bed until late. My blankets wrapped me up, my body was so warm I began to sweat, and I could hear my phone go off a few times. But I laid there, ignoring both my phone and the world.

I can’t talk.

All I wanted to do is stare up at my ceiling and go through a list inside of my head, like I always do. I won’t speak, because nothing I could say, mattered.

I can’t sleep.

Memories, flash backs, doubts, and insults to myself are running laps around in my head, reminding me how worthless I am. Night terrors fill my head and I wake up thrashing around caught in my sheets, feeling as if I was being suffocated.

I can’t eat.

My appetite is gone, forcing myself to eat only makes things worse. And I allow everything on my plate to go to waste.

I can’t move.

I’m in a fetal position on my bed, awaiting for medication to kick in so I can feel numb again.

I can’t do this.

I cannot live this life anymore. This is not who I am, this is not who I want to be. I cannot take it, me sitting here always being the villain when I try so hard to be the hero. But it’s not enough, it has never been enough. The blame falls on me, every time.

I can’t do this.

I’m beginning to believe them, my thoughts. What they say, it just makes sense. I’m worthless, useless, stupid, ugly…and I cannot do anything about it.

When people use me, I deserve it. When something goes wrong, it’s my own fault. When I speak, it’s pointless. When I eat, it’s wasteful. When I smile, it’s fake. When I feel like a waste of space, it’s true.

Because I’m clumsy, I push people away, I try too hard, I’m a cry baby, I have trouble with words, my smile is convincing when I’m not okay, and suddenly, I don’t care anymore.

I can’t do this.