I'm Okay

 Dear Diary,

The cheese toast lies cold on my table, I don't remember well how it tastes. I didn't charge my phone, it was lying dead all night beside me, not much difference between us both. That I write to you and I know what I write isn't that interesting a thing to read, I pray you bear up till the last line before you judge. Right now I'm outside my room, sitting on the stairs, a place in the corner people hardly care to visit, as I can't hide it anymore. If I feel okay it never stays and I feel like dying again, but I know death won't lead anywhere. A never ending vicious loop I don't know where it ends and where begins. I am so helpless that I say it loud when people can hear and make myself even more vulnerable. When I look at other people, they seem to me as those foil characters used in literature, so strikingly contrasting to me. And there's no cure to whatever has recked my mind into this state of disaster, the source even unknown to me myself. I don't remember the last time I smiled at me for being myself, I don't even remember myself. And now I'm standing on the thin boundary line and there's nothing on either side. I don't want to meet my friends, I don't want to go home, but I just want to tell them that I still love them. Maybe it's all my fault, but I never wanted to be born. Until you see my face you would think I'm exaggerating, but in reality I'm not, not even in the least. And all I do when I laugh is use dark humour as the only available defence mechanism, rest other dopamine stocks are currently run out. While I badly need a long hug, a kind word and a shoulder to rest my aching head on, all I want to be is alone. And I hate myself for being so helpless. Whenever I want to talk about it I stop myself as I know it's no use. Whatever I do, even my favourite pastime, it feels suffocating after a while. My imaginary room has all it's walls scribbled everywhere, and stacks of old journals on my table beside the typewriter, as this ink is all I ever own. I'm feeling thirsty but I can't move to get myself water. The knife on my wrist sounds an idea quite peaceful but I reject it, as I have promises to keep. Anyways I am okay, I know I'll make it somehow, someday, I haven't given up yet.