So, my life, and the fun that is it…
I work, and when I am not working, home. Fun life. No wonder I do what I do. I have to go onto the Internet to talk to people. No one here would understand. Not one of my friends or family could understand, since I don't even understand myself. I don't know why I feel the need to hurt my body. But I still do it day after day. Turning to the razors instead of talking. Cutting up my legs. As the blood drips down my leg I think about how no one can ever see them, yet one day someone will. What will I do when that happens? I am stupid. Theses scars are permanent. Yet, I keep doing it. Memories that I want to forget will always be remaining. Every time I look down at my legs, they will be there. I need help. I know I do. But who am I supposed to tell and really, what could they do for me? I am sure everyone looks at me and sees this perfect person I pretend to be. But do they really know me? Does anyone actually know the real me? The one I try so desperately to hide. No, since I don't even know the real me. I have been hiding from it for so long. Where have I gone? Why do I do this to myself? I used to always be happy. I think now, I don't want anyone to know I have left, so I put on a mask. I laugh, smile and talk, when I really feel like crying. I don't know if I could even cry right now. And will never know. I am not going to try, because then everyone would know who I really am now. So I will continue to pretend to everyone I know. Hoping they don't see the thing I have become.
I am not who everyone thinks I am. I am what people think I should be.