I'm failing.
Not just failing literally in academics,
but I know I've fallen. So damn down;
down where I have no idea how to climb back.
At least, I feel the firm ground below me as comfort,
knowing I cannot fall any further.
This sickness. It gnaws at my head,
chewing me whole from deep inside me.
It's unbearable; this pain in my head, this heaviness
that never goes away, not even for a moment.
I know, hell, I know, that there's so much pain in the world,
and I also know if I could, I would take it all so
nobody else has to suffer.
So call me selfish. Selfish for feeling depressed about
this pain that I never consented to, never wanted,
that has no point of existing, other than to make me
become the worst part of myself, I never imagined I could be.
So call me selfish for being sad for all the things I could've
achieved, if not for this. For all that I could've done.
If. Not. For. This. Abhorrent. Wretched. Disaster. Of. Pain.
I could've been an accomplished writer, a certified topper,
a worthwhile daughter, an unburdened friend, a fun sister,
a student living up to the expectations she set herself, for
not just others, but for herself.
So call me selfish. Call me a liar.
You don't understand. And you never will,
unless you experience this pain firsthand, which of course,
I'm too selfless to even think of passing on to you, even in
my trysts of insufferable loathing.
So call me selfish. It's just headaches. Right?
You would never understand, and I hope you never do,
regardless of what that tiny aching part of me wishes.
Call me selfish. Maybe one day you'll think of how I managed
to survive. Maybe one day you'll cry for the way you treated me.
Maybe one day
you'll curse yourself for what damage you wrought in the mind
of an innocent girl in a pain too harsh for someone, let alone
someone of her small age.