I’m not a selfish person,
I put others needs before mine,
And it has saved my life.
The first time it saved my life was odd.
I loved her and I loved them,
It was not enough to keep me happy,
But it was enough to keep me alive.
The second time was sad.
I was scared and terrified,
I was angry at the fact that I had to listen over the phone,
That I couldn’t be there to hug them,
And I couldn’t be there to grab the bottle.
It’s surprising how something so horrible kept me alive.
I was terrified at the thought of losing them,
I never wanted that to happen.
And I vowed to myself that I would be there for them,
No matter how much I wanted to die.
And now,
The third time is miserable.
It doesn’t feel like it’s saving me so much as condemning me.
I can’t take my own life,
Not just because I’m scared,
Although I am.
It’s because there are people who love me,
Or if not love then like me,
Or would just be slightly sad if I died.
Even if they might move on in a week,
I couldn’t do that to them,
I’ve already hurt too many people.
I’ve only ever driven people away,
Even my closest friends have left,
I’ve never blamed them for that,
It’s not always my fault,
I’m not egotistical enough to think their lives revolve around me,
I don’t blame them,
No matter how much it hurts.
I used to think that nobody would miss me if I did.
I snapped out of it when I realized most people have empathy.
The more I heal,
The more I find out how much better off I would be.
Normal people this and normal people that.
I’ve only ever been broken,
The shards of myself tearing each other apart.
The only reason alive is because I stake so much of my identity into what other people think of me,
I don’t want my name to make them sad,
I couldn’t stand it if I wasn't alive to make them love me,
If I couldn't suck up to them in the hopes that I can pretend that I am loved,
Dying is the end,
But you never really know.
So I am alive not because I am strong,
Or a hero for not giving in,
Or a warrior fighting my depression.
I’m alive simply because I’m so fucked up in the head that I am still worried about what people think of me.
Gods forbid I upset them by not saying something before I kill myself.
God forbid they don’t want to be friends anymore for crying for attention.
It’s so dumb,
They wouldn’t say anything because I would be dead.
So it saved me,
And I’m not particularly happy about it,
But I’m alive, aren’t I?