I cry a lot. Like a lot a lot. I’m bitter. I see other people’s happiness and wish it was my own. I don’t see a lot in myself. Beauty? Intelligence? Faith? It’s not there. I’m completely fucked up in the head. Yeah, today is exactly a month since the last time I cut myself. That doesn’t mean I feel any different. All it says is my scars are healed.  I’m always trying to be a better person, and I can’t succeed. I try to be better in school, and I study and do all my work and I still fail everything. I can’t even pass my permit test. Like an easy little test. I try to make my appearance better, I can’t get myself to eat healthy, I work out all the time plus the ridiculous about of hours spend at dance conditioning, I try to do my make up in a nice way, I try to make my hair look decent. Literally fucking nothing I can do is right. My mom wonders why I give up in all situations so easy. My mom freaking asked me if they was something bad going on. She told me she didn’t want to find out ten years from now I was an alcoholic at 15 that was suicidal and crazy. And that’s just it. I’m not an alcoholic, I don’t drink, but I mean everyday I ask myself what’s there to live for? Why do I live to be told i’m not good enough and to be constantly dead tired of life. It’s not like me to hide from my mom and I would hate to tell her anything because it would break her heart and she would never look at me the same and she would question everything. Could you imagine trying to explain to the ones you love that you cut yourself everyday, for countless months for whatever reason and them just look at you with disgust, sadness, anger, whatever it may be, they don’t look at you the same. I always want to talk about everything. Every little detail. And no one has the time, the patience, the heart to hear. I have no one i’m just close with. Like there is no one I just tell everything to because I can’t just know they’re going to look at me and say they’re there for me. It’s heart breaking. I can’t just look at someone and fathom the imagine in their mind of my pain. I’m sick. I’m digging myself in a hole. I’m depressed. I’m just not okay.