I want to die. I hate how I am. I hate how I want to eat shitty food over healthy food. I try to change, but when I try I get shot down. I get pushed back even further. I get called names. They feed them, you know. The demons inside me. Inside my head. They feed them, and when I am all alone in my head I can't shut them out no matter what I do. They keep reminding me of what they said, and I start to agree with them more and more. I grew up in a shitty way. All throughout middle school, I was the quiet one that had a bunch of books with me. I preferred to stick with what friends I had at the time- which were few and far in between. So I turned to books. I was teased throughout my life. Especially in elementary school, and it kind of carried on into middle school. Then high school came, and I was really excited. The thing is, I didn't actually blossom and become a social butterfly until my senior year. But all those years, ever since the beginning of middle school, I started hating myself. It didn't show up as much during middle school, but it was there. It then carried onto high school, and it became a bit more prominent. After graduation, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was because I was lazy or what, but everything just skyrocketed from there. My Depression became more unstable, along with my Anxiety. I had irregular sleep patterns, and I picked up Paranoia because of it. Not only that, but Schizophrenia as well. I think I was Schizophrenic back in my early years as well, all the way back in middle school. I always talked to myself and to no one in particular.

Still, I want to die. I physically can't love myself no matter what I do. Even if I tried and were to actually conquer my demons, I will still hate myself. I would still want to hurt myself with how useless I am, with how I can't even live properly. Everyone says that I can pick up the pieces and rebuild myself. Don't they realize, though? I can't pick up the pieces because there are no pieces to do so. There's not even dust; there's nothing left to pick up, not even the shell of a person.