BeautifulMature

Recovery.

Its a simple word. But there's nothing simple about it.

The nights of tortured sleep, the voices that just won't seem to go away. The days of self-loathing, trying so desperately not to heed to the voices of the night. But they always seem to come around.

Helpless. Ashamed. Confused. Guilty. 

Seeking help, but no one quite understands you. They don't understand what self torture is. They don't understand the voices that refuse to leave you alone. They don't understand the meaning of the root problem. They expect you to be able to put it into words, and say all that your feeling in five minutes.

Anger. That's all I hear. As if this wasn't hard enough? To be able to put myself out there, not once, not twice, but three times? I'm tired of fighting.

Just give up. Just one little scratch and you can feel instantly better. You won't have to seek out help, this can be a way to help yourself. You can be the perfect one in this imperfect situation. Perfection. You've always wanted that.

The prospect of masking perfection seems so appealing. If nobody understands you, then why even try? If they don't even care, then why even try to fight? 

The End

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