Word Better Left Unsaid

I think I’ve written about a thousand suicide notes that no one’s ever read, and I hope that no one ever will. As contrasting of a statement that is, I would not want anyone to think of me differently. In the way I think of myself. I would not want anyone to know how much I have been struggling, and how I have drowned a million times within two years. I would say I’m doing better now, but I think it’s a lie. Things are better only for a short while before they get worse again, and then it continues over and over again until there will be nothing left of me. Maybe I’m selfish for considering my feelings to be struggles, but I don’t really know what else to classify them as. They’re more so self-inflicted if anything; however, I cannot control what the mind perceives and believes. I thought it was all so bad last year, but I’m coming to the conclusion that it was probably the best year I’ve had. I may have gone through a few struggles here and there, but overall, everything was so much better. I was so much smarter when I was younger, and I failed to appreciate that. I swear that as the years go by, I get dumber and dumber each day. I am unsure as to how my intelligence has begun to increasingly halt each year, but somehow I have managed.
Though I fear my mind has not been the only thing to be affected by this sudden fall in character, but my body has grown old and weary from the few years I’ve lived. People say I have all the time in the world, but I find that to be the biggest lie ever told. Each year, I find that the time I have is getting shorter and shorter while the days seem longer. It does not seem possible until you live through it, and I am worried that I won’t ever escape. My life feels the same each day, but I think it is slowly getting harder and harder to leave my bed because there is less and less to look forward to. There is nothing left of me that I can say that I’m proud of. My standards have plummeted to levels my past self could not even begin to fathom, so that I am able to meet them. But that is not the ways things should be. I should be meeting my standards, and yet they’re meeting me. If that is not a sign of failure, than I don’t know what is. How can I have gone from a star that shined so bright that everyone could see to mere speck in the sky that is unreachable. I aimed so high that I have failed to fail, and I’m afraid everything is catching up to me. I am trying so hard to grasp the knowledge at my fingertips, but I am simply unable to.
Gone are the days that I could have a breath of air, and here come the nights I believe will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wish I was poet. I wish I was known. I wish I was understood. Perhaps I am in ways I cannot comprehend, but I wish more to feel the effects of this so called understanding. In the way that my room is a reflection of my state - disorganized chaos. Everything is everywhere, and I cannot get myself to get out of bed to clean. I have not been to my desk in ages, opting for working in my bed. I don’t know how to put myself to sleep anymore. I don’t know anything, and I hate it so much because everyone else makes life seem effortless. I wish my life felt as easy as it looks. I know everyone has it just as hard if not more difficult than I do, but I don’t know why I seem to be struggling tenfold of the normal person. Is my being simply not good enough to succeed? Am I not trying hard enough? Or is my best just not enough to get me where I need to be? I know my standards are high, and that most people do not understand why I need everything to be perfect all the time. I don’t either. I just know that I do, or else I feel like the world is worse than ending. I would rather die a billion times than to fail once. Because the pain of failing once is something I will feel through the strands of every universe, every lifetime I exist in.
And no one I know realizes this about me. Although I am aware that I am the only one who cares enough to know about me, it still hurts to find out that the people I would throw my life on the line for in a second do not know who I am inside. They know only the carefully, curated version of me they see and nothing beyond. They don’t dig deeper to know who I am in my core, and as much as I would want to shut them out, I desire to been known, seen, cared for even. I need someone to see who I am, and to let me see who they truly are. Someone I need not to keep secrets from, and someone I can give my heart to without risking it being shattered. I’m already in pieces, and I pray for the day another person can put it back together with me because I know my heart is not safe in my hands. I would break it with every failure I face, every challenge I lose, every opportunity I do not take ahold of, for that is the person I am, and the monster of a person I will forever fail to escape.