I told you that I fucked up again.

You said «That’s what you always do».

I hate you, I hate myself more, because it’s so damn true, and sometimes all we need in life is a big, juicy lie.

I’ve lied about a lot of things. Lied so well that I believed it too. I didn’t realise just how dangerous of an act that can be. 

I know now. We always figure it out when it’s too late, don’t we. Maybe it’s just me.

Sorry that you got caught up in my twisted plot, in the web I had to spin in order not to.. I guess die?

Like that would be a tragedy, I know. All the years down the drain, I know. All my futile and half-assed attempts to save the bloody stumps of what could have been a life, I KNOW. All the days I keep wasting, even though I know life is short and this is the only one and I’m lucky to be here.. I know..

Where did it start, the reign of fear over my body and mind, and why does it even matter? Maybe I believe that if I could figure this out, then the hate could switch over to understanding and GOD have I longed to be understood.

I’m a slave inside this flesh and bone construction, a damn slave and how dare I say that when I am also the master. Ruling with an iron fist over all the dysfunctional parts that together makes up this miserable person that I deemed worthless. At what age? 25,18, 5, at birth.? Did I come to this conclusion in my mother’s womb? Did I spend 9 months in there shaking in terror, knowing just by instinct that I was not fit to enter this world, that I was a mistake, that I should not have been at all?

I’m sorry that I am.

Sorry that this is all I got.

That this is all I have to give.

That this, THIS, is me trying my best.

This is me giving my all.

And still, I don’t get it

I still don’t understand

Why it is so hard for me

To be a human