Emotions are supposed to be raw, ugly, brutal… you don’t want someone to “sorta” love you. You want that love to be a bursting flame, not a candle.
You don’t know what it’s like to be me, to look at yourself in the mirror and not like what you see, to hate every inch of yourself, and to forget what it’s like to be free. I’m not who I want to be. I hate the things I say and do. I hate how my depression brings other people down. I hate that they feel like they can’t be around me. I hate that I’ve caused them so much pain from my mental illness. I feel like an unwanted burden. I do know they love me. I know they are tired of my depressed actions. I know they are scared I’m going to kill myself. I wonder if I’m good for anything besides bringing people pain. I wonder how I got this way from the innocent person I use to be. Why am I so self-destructive? I wish I never began to be like that. It’s ruined me. It’s changed me into a monster. People see my scars and become afraid of me. I’m not a dangerous person. I’m not a freak. I am not crazy. I am loving, genuine, and sweet. I just have emotional problems. I wish people who didn’t understand depression didn’t comment on it. I want to be the person everyone wants to be around. I don’t want to be such an empty shell that just is there. I’m sick of always being the problem. I know I can be hard to love. I know I can be a huge disappointment to some. I hate who I am. I hate who I’ve become.
Stetherine | Delena parallel
”Actually, we-uh… we kissed.”
”…oh, okay. And then…?”