I rather look like a skeleton
Blame me for not making a decision
Blame me for being unstable
Blame me for not meeting your expectations
Blame me for never being enough
Blame me for you abusing me
Blame me for the life you put yourself through
I want to escape
Not to another dilemma
But to a safe place
I would still be stressed out
“If you never try, you never know,” he said
I can’t risk it right now
Don’t blame me
I will risk my life, but not you
I will escape not out of desperation but out of a choice
I will escape when I am strong, not weak
You know everything, and how it is going to be
Be with me, forever and until the end
But Billie who?
You didn’t know better
You didn’t see the bones
You didn’t recognize the flesh that doesn’t exist
How can suicide be alright?
How can you justify for them when I was pushed off the edge ready to jump?
I wanted to end it, to end the suffering and the suffering of others
I was always the problem.
He called me Billie.
“You look like her,” he said.
He did not know
The only thing that is common between me and her is how fucked up our mental health is.
6 months later, after the most catastrophic event of my life,
I wrote, “I am the master of my own fate.”