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"The thoughts are slowly winning and I'm scared of what I might do once it does."

— something your suicidal friend would never admit to you

Do you know

I’m not me anymore

There’s nothing left to live for

You say you know everything

But why does it fails when it comes to me

Do you know

Even I don’t know who I am anymore

My brain is is slowly killing me

And I’m just letting it be

And my body is begging for me survive

But what if I don’t want to 

To be called all these names

To be ashamed of myself

To HATE myself

Do you know

Your words are like knives in my heart

And these knives are tearing me apart

You took my innocence away

But for you it was just a play

Can you stop

Please STOP

Cause I don’t think I can fight anymore

“Trust me when I tell you: The most beautiful eyes have cried the most. The happiest smile was sad all along. & the coldest person felt the most.”

— The Poetic Boy

I can’t explain

One of the worst parts of mental illness is that it’s so hard to explain to other people.

Trying to describe what it’s like to have a mental illness is like trying to describe colours to someone who was born blind.

I can try to explain as many times as you need, but you don’t understand. Nobody does… I feel so alone. So isolated. So empty…

Fernando Pessoa, from Un Soir à Lima; A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe: Selected Poems (tr. by Richard Zenith)