Self-Suicide

Content warning: suicide and mental health.

By an anonymous author.

You all say
your door
is always open,
but whenever I use it
I am given critical readings
Or taken as a piece of gossip
Or disappointment.

I am a pain on your existence,
like an audiobook that speaks but is never heard.

I am a project,
Rather than someone
Who just wants to be listened to.

I am given acceptance,
Although what I really want
is for someone to say
I am here,
Ready-
Always will be
never won’t be.

And,
when I feel like the world is closing in on me,
I want someone to know
That I will have nothing to say if they ask
“what’s wrong?”,
because I do not know myself
exactly
what is wrong.

And,
If there was something that triggered it,
to say it aloud would seem so personal and comical
that it would be like I had made it up.
But you would know this
already
so you would not ask.

I want to call someone,
Because everywhere has told me
That I need people around me to call.

I need to hear your voice
To stop me from falling,
To tell me you love me
And you will get through this
Like you have each time before

But I have not been given this.
No one has offered themselves up.
I am a diagnosis
And so I am solved,
To you,
I am the end goal
When in truth
I could not feel further from the end.
I want you to say
I will answer your call
Whenever you can,
And listen
Even when I don’t want to speak,
Because I want to feel protected
And right now
I
do
not
feel
protected.
I feel like a bird left behind in a flock,
Jumping when you thought you saw a safety net.
I feel painfully,
Cripplingly,
heart-wrenchingly,
Alone;
Left naked in a room
With a whole distance between me and anybody else-
A distance which is thick like jelly
And impenetrable
Like glue
And I am back in my childhood
Being mocked.
Laughing faces shouting
Fat
Awkward
frigid
and getting thrown food at me
but laughing it off
When my friends
steal my lunchbox
and pass it
to the back
of the bus,
Screaming
jokingly
And crying so I can pretend it is with laughter.

So I stand in the middle of the playground;
the class clown who is always the one being laughed at.

No one sees me because no one wants to see me.
If they were to look inside everyone knows
It would be self-suicide.

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