"No, I'm not real. I never was."

Physically and mentally, I've been constantly sick.
Dying with every chance I get.
Losing it.
If you knew half of what I know, you'd lock me up for good.
All promises moot.
You can't begin to sympathize.
Punching pillows, sweating bullets, and fighting back screams.
Skipping sentences because I think you're in my head.
"I can't rhyme.
I can't breathe.
I can't write.
I can't be.
There's terms and conditions to keep me from speaking.
Words and religions to keep me from living."
You think it's funny.
The way none of it's funny.
And the way nothing makes sense.
And you can't get it through you're pretty little head that I'm fucking sick.
And I hate the way you look at me like I'm faking every bit of this.
Like "it's all your fault."
You don't even understand how much it is.

I just wish you could be wrong about one thing.

"You're already the voice inside my head."

I miss you.

The door closed, forever changing her perspective of love. Every touch, kiss, hug, laugh was suddenly meaningless. It didn't make sense. Her head spun and her knees threatened giving up. Hate? Not possible. She raised her fist to knock again, but couldn't do it. Heartbreak on repeat. She moved her left foot back and then her right. A whole step away. Two more. One more step and she'd be out of the light. Out of his life. Is that what he'd said? She couldn't comprehend recent events. It didn't make sense.

"Medication for the kids with no reason to live."

I can't begin to explain my reasoning.
There is none.
Method to my madness? Nope.
You're just not what I want.
But I'm in too deep to turn it around.
I've got to find my way out.
I've never lied about "I love you," more than I am now.
Or maybe I just can't yet.
I can't give love that I don't have.
But you've given me too much to take care of.
I'm trying.
Really, I am.
And that's why I'm still in this.
But everything's too familiar.
You are a cliché.
You're in love with the idea of love. Not me.
I can't see it being serious.
"Denial."
It's a possibility.
I know I can't love you like I loved him.
Not now, not ever.

I don't know what to do.

I've got nothing for you to gain.

I've been trying to talk myself out of "I want to die" and back into "I'm just glad I'm alive."
I can't convince myself none of it's a lie.
Your words are pretty, and laced with sincerity, but I can't believe you mean it.
I don't see that it's possible.
We're on opposite ends of the spectrum.
You want everyone to know,
but I'm not so sure.
This isn't what I expected.
Automatic bliss, like before, maybe.
No more worries,
frowns,
breakdowns.
So maybe this isn't it.
Maybe you're not what I need.
Maybe I need someone to explain it to me.

"I wanna be your happiness."

I don't know what to do anymore. I've spent so long pretending I knew what to do and how to take care of this and myself and how to balance my brain, but this...this is terrifying. I don't know how to tell the ones who need to know because I don't know how they'll handle it. "You're a teenager." Yes. "You're crazy." Quite possibly. I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hiding it and getting frustrated with myself for not being able to control my brain. I want to rein it in and make it behave but it runs rampid and destroys every good thing. I want to feel okay. Not manic or depressed or scared. I want to be normal. I want to function normally with normal people. I want to be able to look you in the eye with out being afraid of you seeing it. I want to do things and not get upset. I want this not to be me. I just want it to all go the fuck away and leave me alone. And sometimes I want to not be alive anymore, but I know that's not an option and I could never.
But mostly, I want you to be able to look at me without seeing some psychopathic maniac behnd a shell of a girl.
Because that's all I see anymore.

I am Jack's restless mind.