I’ve faded into the background.

I’ve disappeared. All my worst fears have happened and now I’m living my nightmare.

Nothing can make this pain stop. Nothing can make it go away.

It’s becoming so hard to breathe. My face can’t hold a smile.

Why is it so hard to live in this world? The pressure to be something is an unwanted weight on your shoulders.

It’s so easy to go unseen.

Sometimes I stand on tall buildings and I close my eyes and I think… I just think, I never act. I just think and I wonder. I ponder on the what if.

I don’t want to feel this way anymore. This empty. This unfulfilled. This useless.

I’m numb all the time when there isn’t pain.

Rainbows and pots of gold feel more and more like fables.

There is no end to this maze of misery.

Tears are destined to fall continually down my face.

Happiness is not my destination.



I welcome the sweet release of death.

I welcome the end to my pain and the end to my unhappiness.

I will no longer have to wear a mask or live with a facade.

I welcome death.

I welcome the finally of it all. No longer feeling suffocated in a life that I didn’t ask for.

No longer feeling alone and not having a hand to reach out for.

Happiness won’t mean anything anymore. It won’t be the lifelong goal that drives me forward.

Feelings will no longer exist.

I welcome death.


The feeling of disgust battles through me on the odd occasion and no matter how many affirmations I throw at it, it just won’t leave.

It picks me apart bit by bit. You’re too fat. You’re ugly. You have too many spots. Your hair is shit.

Attack after attack, after attack. It’s no wonder I’m so messed up.

It’s a little demon that I just can’t get rid off, and when it leaves best believe it won’t be long before it returns ready to rip me to more shreds.

Digging its heels deeper and deeper into my back.

I pray for a day that I can pick it up and kick it away so hard that it shatters to pieces.

I’m trying to get strong, day by day I’m building up my armour until it becomes impenetrable.

Until those whispers of discontent are nothing more than faint, inaudible bleeps in the wind.


As I lay here on this broken shitty bed, I started to contemplate my life. Where it was going and what I was doing.

Nothing and nowhere.

I was mad, angry and tired, all three at the same time.

Why was life like this, what had I done?

My head and heart felt busted and bruised.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life, it was supposed to be better, I deserved better.

Sparks of red and black, were all I could see, my vision was no longer clear.

If I wasn’t crying, I was punching walls.

I felt like I was being set up, that someone was playing a cruel trick on me and that this life belonged to a mean nasty person. Not me.

You’ve got the wrong person I felt like screaming.

But was I the wrong person? Was I actually the bad person who actually deserved this life?

It was way too puzzling to answer.


I don’t feel good.

I feel sad and ashamed and lost. There’s no longer a destination for me. I’ve lost all direction.

I have no motivation. And when you don’t have motivation, what gets you up? What drives you?

Some days I feel sad. Some days I feel nothing. Some days I’m just there, floating around in a ball of distractions.

I watch TV, I read a book, play a game, speak to friends. On the rare occasion I might go for a walk. But none of those things give me satisfaction, because at the end of the day, I know I will just continue drifting off into a void of incompleteness.

The power of loneliness and unfulfillment has gripped ahold of my heart and my soul and has no plans of letting go any time soon.

I want to stop crying, hating on others joy. I don’t want to be the cynic sitting alone in the corner.

I want to live life to the fullest, experience things. I don’t want to give up on me. I don’t want to stop the growth of the person that I’m meant to be. But how do I become that person?

I once had potential. I get told that all the time. Now I sit in dark rooms, with only me for company.

I am not a friend to myself, so how can I be friends with others? Relationships that once were so strong and solid, have drifted away. I don’t want my negativity to spread to them. And without the negativity what else is there to talk about?

I don’t do anything, I haven’t experienced anything new. All I have for them is feelings of doom and gloom. I don’t want them to experience my load, so I keep it trapped it the back of my head and every now and then I offload it onto myself.

I have bruises and scars, on once perfect skin. They hide in places that others can’t see, but I know that they are there. Sometimes they feel as if they are the only ones who really know me, know the real me. Sometimes they feel as if they are my only companions. I don’t give them names though. That would be a step too far.

I just want to feel happy. Have a sense of worth. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.

I want to feel good.


Alone again. Forgotten.

I was never part of a ‘them’ or a ‘we’.

I was the unwanted toy that wasn’t part of the Christmas time rush. Stuck on the top shelf collecting dust, with the threat of a bright orange reduced sticker looming in my future.

Why was I never asked if I wanted to come? Why was I never chosen?

Countless nights of tears had been shed over these pondering wonders.

Maybe I just wasn’t good enough.

I didn’t fit the ideal picture of what perfection was. I was the bright spark in a pastel peach setting.

I didn’t fit in.

I was the odd one out.

There but forgettable.

One day I would be loved the way that I deserved to be. One day I would be someone’s number one. I would be the prize.



I want nothing more than to have a life. A life that excites me and gets me out of bed in the morning. No matter if the sky is blue or grey I want to get up and feel like the oxygen that I breathe is worth it.

Even though my heart beats and blood pumps around my body I haven’t lived in such a long time. I died a long time ago.

I’ve stopped living and I can’t remember when I died. Everything I do is a distraction because I know my life is over.

Nothing that I do brings me real happiness. Every time I try it’s always one step forward two steps back.

I don’t want to make goals any more because no matter what I do they are always unreachable. Something comes a long to trip me up and I fall. I keep falling and falling and it’s so hard to get back up and keep going that I just lie there.

I used to be such a happy person. I have an amazing smile and my laugh can be heard for miles. I haven’t laughed properly in such a long time. Whenever I laugh now, it’s from one of my distractions. It’s not sincere because underneath my laugh lies so much pain.

The pain that has been built up and been bubbling for so long it’s become a comfort blanket for me. I wear it around my shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened with a pin that is unbreakable.

I feel like an impostor in this life. I’ve come along and messed it all up. This life that had a perfect map, a perfect destination has been ruined, because I came and tampered with it.

All the goals and wishes that were made were broken by me. I ruin everything. I’m rot. I come along and cause death to everything that I touch. I shatter dreams, kill futures.

I killed myself and nothing that I do will ever revive me.

I’m destined to be forever broken.


Every time there’s an Up there’s a down. Every time I go left, life goes right.

I never walk on the same path, as where I want to go.

My destination is always further than my reach.

My lungs are raw from lack of oxygen, my eyes no longer see a beautiful horizon.

My insides are decaying and my mind is rotting.

My life ended years ago.

I feel like a hollow tube of flesh, no bones, no muscle, no life.

My very existence is scattered across the globe in mini particles.

I am nothing.


My mind wondered to depths that I couldn’t control.

Why was I so misunderstood?

I just wanted to be happy, but 100 million things were crashing around in my head.

I picked up my coffee cup and took another sip.

I hated coffee, hated the taste, hated the smell. Hated everything about it, but yet here I was drinking it. My daily ritual.

I was constantly doing things that didn’t bring me joy.

All I wanted was to dip my toes in turquoise oceans and have the sun beat down on me.

The monotony of grey was making me feel more and more claustrophobic.

I picked up a sachet of sugar and ripped the top off. I poured that small white grains into the coffee. A small dust cloud floated to the top, before the crystals dissolved into the hot black liquid.

I had started to drink it straight black. No milk.

On the odd occasion like today, I would treat myself to some sugar.

I sat back in my chair watching the steady flow of foot traffic, slowly stirring the sugar into my coffee.


The pain had long since disappeared.

I was supposed to feel the joy by now right? I was supposed to feel something.

If it was supposed to come naturally, why didn’t I feel anything? What was wrong with me?

I looked over at him, as his chest rose and fell.

He was so tiny. So fragile.

I should want to pick him up. Hold him close to me and pour my love into him.

But I couldn’t. I felt nothing. I was numb, blank. Frozen in a place of non existence.

Was I broken?

I had carried him inside of me for what felt like forever.

I had spoken to him, sung to him. I had told him countless times that I loved him.

But now he was here, the feelings that I had once felt had stopped. They had disappeared.

I was a bad person. How could I call myself a mother, when I didn’t know if I love my own child.

He was a stranger to me.