Me. All about me.

At times, I get really upset with myself and just want to end myself. I'm angry at this world, angry because I exist in it. Again, I'm not being sewerslideal but then, you know, I feel this way often. Pure isolation is my only cure and hope. I want to be left alone. To starve or to live. I really want to achieve my goals. I want to be a better person. I want people to like me but my humor and kindness are running out. They'll soon see I'm a monster. How pathetic and unlikeable I am. 

I try/to forget/ about/ all those things/ I did to myself/ and how/ I found peace with it. 

I really, really, want to cut myself as if I'm the one who did those things to me in my childhood. I am the villain and I am the savior. No matter how hard I try to run away from it, it comes back to me. It's a loophole, it's my truth. It's an identity of me, rather, me completely. I'm nothing beyond their actions. But I want to be good, to like myself. 

Cry. Cry. Drown.

Pick me up. I keep falling into myself. I can't sleep lately, it's hard to breathe too at times. I've been hating food just as much I hate my lack of effort. I need to be, someone. I have to be. Please. I want to be okay. I want to remember living a happy life. 

His words ring in my ears. They really crushed me, even though they were just words, like any other.

"Why won't you let me love you, like the way I did when you were, a kid?"

And then, he pulls me close and thrusts himself into me. I was fifteen. I WAS FUCKING FIFTEEN. He kisses me. His spit and tongue inside my mouth, I remember the taste of his saliva, very clearly, as if, it's my own. I try to get off him and sit on my chair, trying to study geography, my favorite subject at the time, he again, comes from behind, touches me wrongly in all my upper body parts and then, his hand sinks below me till it's inside. I try to remove it, he's so strong. He finally takes it out, smirks, knowing he'll get me someday, probably in one of the upcoming days. Gets out of my room and closes the door behind him. Talks to my mom, sits on the sofa, drinks the coffee my mom made for him, recommended her movies, then goes away as if nothing happened. 

Sometimes, it doesn't even feel real, as if any of that ever happened to me, but then, it feels like, all of that, all those years, all those people, including him, are at me, at the moment, all at once. 

It's all an excuse at the end of the day, an excuse for all my failures and shortcomings but then, I really, really just want to run away from it, as if, that wasn't me, all of that never happened to me. But it did and it HURTS SO MUCH. I cannot cry enough about this. Even now, as I sit on my chair, typing this, I feel his hands from behind. I feel him everywhere, when I am lying on the bed, when I'm taking a shower, when I'm changing my clothes, sitting by the window, when I'm alone at home, when the period gods pay me a mere visit, when I sleep, when I sing, when I paint, when I do maths, when I eat burgers, when I watch tv, so much. He's more of an anti-god figure to me. So much. I'm still eighteen.

 How much can I improve?

Farewell for the night, mates.