Don’t Think I Liked Any Of This When I Reread It

When I said life was hard,
that wasn’t me challenging
if it could get worse.

I’m happy for two seconds.
Couldn’t you let me have this one?

No, of course not.
‘Cause I’m around my family.

Cheers to the people with supportive family.
Cheers to the married parents.
Cheers to the loving siblings.
Cheers to the sensitive jokes.
Cheers to the “good examples.”
Cheers to the stories at dinner time.
Cheers to all those cheery things.

Although, then there’s the dysfunctional families.
The ones who lost members to illness.
The ones who think they are ill.
The ones who know someone (or multiple people) who smoke.
The ones that are druggees.
The ones that are alcoholics.
The ones that lack love and compassion.

Loving is one thing,
tolerating is another.
Is it sad if a young girl knows how to open a wine bottle?
Or beer bottle?
Or has cleaned an ash tray?
Or been scared of family who you don’t know well?

Tell me:
What’s the point of keeping secrets from love ones?
It’ll get to them someday.
Information spreads like disease;
silently, discreetly, and to everyone it comes in contact with.

Don’t ask me questions.
I won’t want to answer.
I won’t want to know whatever you are guessing.
Because chances are? It’s not flattering.

Hell is on Earth.
I would be one to know.
My whole damn family would be people to know.

You know why I’m scared and know I may be done for soon?
Because it happened to all my gene-sharers, ya know.
I can see it happening
like it’s already in my grasp
but I’m too scared to give in.

I don’t self harm.
I don’t constantly swear.
I don’t have eating disorders.
Even though you may think it’s good I haven’t given in,
It’s worse than if I did.
Because if I haven’t done those things,
I’m still holding all the pain in.

It’s eating me alive
that is, if I’m not already dead.

By trying to help myself
I’ve only made myself broken.
And I don’t know if I should help that
because, as now discussed, that didn’t work.

I have very little strength left.

Please don’t push me.
I want to run run run
then sit down and stay put.
And if you knock me off balance,
might as well put me completely out of my misery.

I’m not being over dramatic.
I don’t think people realize how serious I am
when I say, “I’m dangerously broken.”

This is not a drill.
Unless you’re here to injure me,
do not abort mission.

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
It’s all nonsense, you see.
It may actually make sense to you
but to me I can’t concentrate.

Awful hearing.
Awful memory.
Awful eyesight.
Awful smile.
Awful attitude.
I’m just awful.

This is the truth.
I’ve been saying,
“This is the hardest part of life yet.”
But I’m young.
It’s all just getting started.

When I said life was hard,
that wasn’t me challenging
if it could get worse.