I'm sorry.

I sit here. It's one a.m. and I'm so broken and so tired and so done that I can't breathe. I did so much and so much happened and I'm so sorry. I want so badly in my very core to be okay that I thought my pure will would make it happen. I should've known it was too good to be true. I sit down at my desk, grabbing at the notebook sitting there, I hear the pencils hit the floor, and the first tears roll out. I snatch at a sparkly purple pencil, and laugh to myself. I miss the days when I had a sparkly purple personality, truly. Now I have a fake one, but the real one is gray and broken and unable to be sharpened any further. I flip to the back page of the notebook, and begin writing, listing.

"I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
I'm sorry I want to run away.
I'm sorry I don't want to be here.
I'm sorry I wake up every morning with the first thought of death.
I'm sorry I spend every night counting and recounting the reasons I don't want to continue life.
I'm sorry I find reasons to stay.
I'm sorry I hate the way I look, and I'm sorry I hate the way I act.
I'm sorry I skip meals.
I'm sorry I never feel good enough.
I'm sorry I can't keep my mouth shut.
I'm sorry I have no motivation.
I'm sorry I give up so easily.
I'm sorry I can't keep people in my life.
I'm sorry you hate me.
I'm sorry I think you hate me.
I'm sorry I use pencil sharpeners for the wrong thing.
I'm sorry I haven't breathed in a few months.
I'm sorry I'm not strong.
I can't be strong anymore..."

And with that pencil dropped, and so did my last bit of sanity. The cabinet doors were open and my mind was closed and I was gone. Though most of all,

I was sorry.

Tags: sad, depressing, deep, scary, pain,