What On Earth I’m Supposed to Do

“I don’t want to be here.”

An alarm goes off in your head when you hear that,

Right?

Well let me explain what it really means.

To me,

At least.

I don’t want to die.

I’m afraid of death.

I’m afraid that there is nothing for us

When we die.

I’m afraid the preachers are right.

Maybe I’ll go to their Hell

And burn forever.

So don’t worry about that,

I don’t want to die.

I just want to cease to exist,

Maybe for a little while.

No,

That’s not it…

Let me think,

Hmm.

What exactly is it?

Ah.

There it is.

I would give anything,

Anything,

To be someone else.

To have

A different body,

A different brain,

A different everything.

I don’t want to look in the mirror

And see this.

I hate all of myself with

Everything I am.

My oddly shaped legs,

My misplaced curves,

My red and white stretch marks,

My unevenly baked muffin top,

My blob of grossness I call

A stomach,

My back fat

That pours over my bra strap

And shows through my shirt.

I hate my face.

It’s too chubby.

I haven’t a jawline in sight.

My lips aren’t wide enough.

My double chin is repulsive.

My freckles don’t cover up

The horrific acne.

My eyebrows never look good.

Hell,

My blue eyes aren’t even

Blue enough.

They’re a dull grey

With pale blue flecks

Sprinkled around,

With a few green hues in the middle.

I hate them.

And what am I supposed to do?

How do I stop

Thinking of myself like this?

I am not an attractive

Person.

I am not pretty.

I am not in shape.

I am not capable of

Achieving the physique

I want.

I am not.

I am not.

I am

Not.

I don’t eat because I feel sick,

But also because

I don’t think I deserve it,

But also because

I don’t even want to.

I haven’t a soul to call.

That’s a lie,

I do.

I could call someone right now.

Would they pick up?

Would I bother them?

What if they’re irritated?

What if?

What if.

What

If.

The point is that no one

Texts me or calls me first.

No

“How are you?”

No

“Are you okay?”

No

“I miss you.

Wanna hang out?”

I haven’t a friend in the

Whole world

Who’s going to do that for me.

No one.

People don’t care.

If I drowned tomorrow,

My girlfriend would be the only

One there to mourn.

But even then,

Sometimes I’m a nuisance to her.

Sometimes

I’m too much.

And it’s my fault.

My mental illness consumes me

Most days anymore.

I can’t go a single day

Without crying now.

I want out.

I want out of this miserable,

Gut wrenching,

Horror filled,

Awful existence.

I can’t hope for better.

My anxiety says,

“What if it doesn’t?

What if this is how

It’ll always be?”

My depression comments,

“Don’t waste your time

Worrying.

You know

It won’t.”

It’s crushing.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think straight.

I can barely function.

And I have no

Goddamn

Clue

What on Earth

I’m supposed to do.