You haven't noticed...

I've felt a strong urge to write something down and to distract myself, and because my ramblings have signs of confession, I decided to posted it in this forum. I don't know if it was a right decision.

TW: suicide, self-harm

You haven't noticed that for the past two days I didn't brush my teeth. You don't think it's weird that I don't comb my hair or shave legs, but I have painted fingernails for the first time in 4 years. You don't suspect that it's a precaution on my side, that I fear I will bite my fingers to the raw flesh.

You say to stop touching ears. You wondered why I'm constantly doing it, you think I have some kind of allergy to earrings. But my jewellery is old and I haven't removed it from months, and the marks are new. You don't know that I tear off my skin from petal ears to blood. That for the very first time I want to self-harm. You see doodles on my arms and become baffled. You don't suspect that I choose pen for a reason. My drawings are an outlet and a message simultaneously – I am here, I am still fighting.

You think I'm feeling better. And partially you're right. The apathy is gone, I have my appetite back. However, I didn't tell you that my meds make me suicidal. It's nothing new for me, I feel I am capable of handling it, but still – the thoughts are there. I don't want to die, I'm pretty fond of living, but that doesn't change the fact that every day I'm thinking of the death. Every night, when I lay in the darkness, I am thinking of shooting myself in the head. And every morning after opening my eyes, I am thinking of shooting myself in the head. Day after day the same image welcomes me to my reality, and says goodbye with nightfall. I think it become a ritual for my brain to invoke these vision, to assure me that, despite any progress, I am not fine. Cruel reminder that recovery is slow, and I have even less power than I believed to posses. Death follows me around and you don't see it.

You don't know that I'm a fraud. That despite all of your expectations, I failed you. I am so afraid of the next days, of facing demons who haunted me for the past months. You let me hide in the woods, to recover from battles, but it's not enough. I am anxious and stressed, and so alone. You don't know that your kindness is painful, that I don't deserve any of it. You think I'm brave and smart, when in reality I'm wretched. I am a coward, and lazy and I don't want to try anymore.

You don't know that you do everything right. You don't understand my struggle, but you don't push me away. You may not know that I hide in my room, and cry my heart out, but when I'm coming to you, with red, puffy face, you hug me, asking no questions. You are silent and present when I really need you. You give me food when I don't have energy to eat, you encourage me to go outside, you give me blanket when you think nights became too cold. You whisper comforting words, that I can survive this, that tomorrow will be better. You plan my future, not knowing that for me future doesn't exist.

You don't understand, but I don't think I want you to. You are my lighthouse, my brightest star, and your ignorance is my bliss. I think I prefer it that way.