Cancerous

That’s how I feel. Like cancer. A tumor.

I’m here to destroy myself and everything and everyone around me, if possible.
I am not doing this on purpose, but sadly, things like me happen sometimes.
I wish I could spit out all this self hatred and pain. They’re eating me alive.
Death doesn’t want me. No. Death wants to torture me.
I wish I could just kill myself and end this battle. I want to sleep. I don’t want an afterlife. I killed my god many years ago — so quit the god talk. It won’t ever work with me. I wish I could say that to my mom and actually make her understand that I absolutely do not want to belong to her religion. She knows I have no faith, but wouldn’t like hearing me say that. I don’t like to hurt her, except if we’re talking about God. I don’t even want to write “his name”, mostly because I associate it with so many horrible, unfair things. I feel so sick. This is ridiculous. Just feed me my psych meds and let me die, please.
I want my closest friends and family to know I tried to heal before the end.

.

ML

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