It's getting bad again.

The alarm buzzes, eyes open, staring at the white ceiling, regretting that I survived another day. 

As the day moves by, I feel more numb. Just going through life like a programmed robot destined to live in a loop until it becomes obsolete. 

As soon as I reach home and make my way to the room, my hands subconsciously grab the only stationary I've been using faithfully for 16 years and make myself bleed. Watching the little blood drops over the reckless lines I carved on my wrist made me chuckle lightly. Looking at the ceiling again, wondering when will I be brave enough to carve a deeper vertical line that will finally stop the pain permanently. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror, wishing I could be anyone else. Wishing I could be prettier, fairer, smaller, skinnier, taller. I wish I could have clear skin, beautiful nails, perfect teeth, long eyelashes, a flat stomach and a stable mental health. 

I continued making myself bleed to relieve the built up stress in my head and my chest. Then I prepared to have a long shower to overthink and hate myself even more. 

After that, I return to bed, refusing to eat as people's menacing words on my weight keep running over and over again in my head. I remind myself I'm a fat, ugly piece of shit who don't deserve food. After swallowing a couple Xanax, I close my eyes to fall asleep and stop myself from spiraling further. I continue praying and begging God to not let me wake up the next day.  

I don't know anymore.

I feel Lost. Confused. After 2 decades of being alive, I'm content with where I am, with what I do but why do I feel so...empty? Why do I feel no joy? 

Why do I still feel like a failure despite trying so hard to be comfortable in a life I built all by myself? 

I still get panic attacks when I see people resembling my parents or even getting nightmares of them hunting for me, then murdering me in cold blood without an ounce of regret only because I'm not who they want me to be. 

My anxiety hits the roof when I even think of stepping foot back to my hometown because I worry that I would be spotted by any relatives, just for them to comment on my weight, or my physical appearance.

I fear my parents would find me, then marry me off to some man just for money. I fear that I would have to give up all my hopes and dreams just to be shackled up to some men, forcing to give up my freedom and my body for his pleasure. I fear I would be abused, just like my mother who mentally abuse me for years to the point, slitting my wrists and bleeding out feels like a better option than to live with her even for a day. 

Sometimes I wonder why was I born. I wish I died. I'm just tired. I'm tired of feeling not good enough, I'm tired of never feeling happy and I'm tired of feeling like a product for my parents. Just there for their benefit. I just want to die, at least I would feel free then. 

 

I just want to leave this horrid world. I can't take it anymore. 

A 20- word story #29

Maybe I was not meant for this lifetime, or for this world. Maybe I was not meant to exist. Maybe. 

A 20-word story #28

It's 12am. I'm supposed to be happy but why do I feel so broken inside? Will I ever be okay? 

A 20-word story #27

I'm not happy. I don't know if I can ever be happy. I'm broken inside and damaged beyond repair. Help. 

A 20-word story #26

I relapsed. The blade slicing the skin my on my wrist felt therapeutic. Crying doesn't solve internal pain, cutting does.