Billie Who?

Billie who?
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 

Billie who?
I will escape not out of desperation but out of a choice 
I will escape when I am strong, not weak

God, please
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.

Billie who?
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.
He ran
6 months later, after the most catastrophic event of my life,
I wrote, “I am the master of my own fate.”