I hate being ______, I hate myself, and finally I hate breathing oxygen

Last night I convinced myself I was going to kill myself for a short while. I was at my tipping point, but for no absolute reason, I just was. For those short minutes I was convinced that in the morning instead of getting a shower I was going to take a bath in my own blood. I didn’t care that not only would just anybody find me but if could have been my little brother or sister. They could need the toilet in the morning but instead they find my body in the bathtub with crimson stained water flooding the floor. Normally the idea of somebody finding me puts me off, and stirs a gut wrenching ache in my stomach, however this time it didn’t I was just empty!

I’ve created this false vision around me, even though I say I want to kill myself and drink bleach. Even though I say I hate life, I hate myself it’s fine because my attitude and body image suggests otherwise, and my facade sticks frozen in place. The icy mask never drops, and neither does the pain of life. It’s not even sadness now or revert, or even the heartbreaking feeling of rejection and lonliness, it’s not feeling it or not feeling happy. It’s feeling like you’re just floating 10 inch of the ground, carrying no body weight, emotions or even any sign you’re even there at that time, in that place. I get through the day pretending I’m fine because nobody notices the difference, in that short time because I feel the compulsion to keep up the brick wall separating fantasy from reality I’m fine. But on a night I’m not, there’s no one to pretend to, lie to, nobody to save me from myself. In that moment the world silently comes crashing down, there’s no tears to cry and no anger screaming at me from the walls. Just a vast desert of dry nothing. And that’s why it hurts; I’m used to feeling something, pure emotion either way but now I feel nothing. I haven’t cried Happy tears in a while now, and when I cry sad tears I have to force myself. 

I hate being gay. I hate it because I just do. I hate the fact that there are people around me who may one day be forced to hate me because of their religion, or because of society. I hate everything about being gay. There’s always that reminder it’s something else that makes me ‘unique’, and further away from the crowd I’m pushed. I hate how I fit every stereotype and have done since I was 5. I want to be hetrosexual so much, but it’s impossible. When around people I try to force myself to act like them, but they already assume I’m going to talk about gay things and it’s like a punch to the stomach. I need to do it! My voice, my hobbies, my friends – all just constant reminders. I hate it so much. Just another reason for me to kill myself, how do I go on with the rest of my life hating something that defines me so much? 

I hate every fibre of my being, on the inside and on the outside. I hate my brain for being ill,, my heart for giving me a blood system, my lungs for breathing, my digestive system for digesting food, I hate my face for being ugly, my eyes for needing glasses, my teeth for being crooked and fucked. My ears for being too big, my hair for being indecisive colour wise, and really curly. I hate my arms because even though they’re really skinny they could be skinnier, I hate my fingers because they’re supposedly pointy, and my finger nails because they aren’t resistant to my nail biting. My torso because it’s fat, my legs because they’re even worse and my arse because it’s completely​ just fat. I hate my walk because I walk with a wobble due to some imbalance in my posture. I hate my skin colour because it’s so pasty and my eyecolour because it’s bring. I hate that I could be so much smarter. I hate my family background. 

How do I make it work for another 50 years at least? 


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