You drink about it, smoke about it, don’t talk about it.
I’m at that point where I want to get up, leave, and never come back. But I know that even doing so, I would still be dragging my heart in a baggage. I am just damn tired. My bones are aching. My mind is pounding. All I want is for someone to care enough to pull me back in.
When we were younger,
You always hated your smile
And even though I didn’t like mine either,
Your insecurities felt strange to me.
Fact: Boys aren’t supposed to dislike themselves.
That’s what we’re told, straight from the womb.
Girls; soft, quiet, skinny pretty.
Boys; manly, muscles, funny, pretty.
But only girls are allowed to hate themselves.
When we grew older,
I didn’t dislike myself.
I felt more of an indifference,
Even a possibly liking
Towards my body and appearance,
Whereas you felt the complete opposite about yours.
It still felt strange to me.
When I began to hate my thighs I complained to you,
And you told me you hate yours too.
And i couldn’t understand why you would,
And how you could,
Because you were a boy.
Why did it still feel strange to me?
When I found you clutching the toilet bowl at the age of seventeen,
And crying your eyes out at the sight of your reflections,
I started to realise that maybe it was more normal than I thought,
For boys to hate themselves,
But forcing themselves to push the hate back in,
Because it felt strange to them.
it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter, nothing fucking matters.
wow you’re SO disappointed at me, you don’t even have words to express it. that’s new. you can bitch at me for two hours straight starting from the moment I open my eyes and you still can’t express your disappointment? I find that hard to believe.
you think telling me you’re disappointed will hurt me? you think it’ll make me do something? how fucking stupid are you? my entire existence is a disappointment to you. you’re still in denial about it, but I’ve already accepted it. no amount of disappointment from you can hurt me. I shed a couple tears for theatrics: to make you feel bad for hurting me, when in reality I don’t even give a fuck.
you don’t love me. you don’t know what love is. “I love you Hannah” my ass. stop feeding me bullshit like that. you wanna know why I treat my siblings the way I do? it’s because I “love” them the way you “love” me. I only learn from the best.
you are the reason I don’t believe in unconditional love. you are the reason I don’t believe in your wife’s stupid fucking god. take me to church all you want, pray for me all you want, but I’ll always reject whatever you give me. remember what you always said? I’m a child of the devil. whatever you and your god gives me is poison in my veins.
you are the reason I used to cut. because I used to care about what you thought of me, because I wanted to make you proud. but now, I don’t give a shit. you can call me names, tell me you’re disappointed beyond belief, take away my therapy sessions, but I don’t care. I don’t do shit for you anymore. maybe it’s because you never did shit for me.