i'm sick of myself.

I feel this way too often. Like wires wrapping around my neck and choking me to death. Only the wires are my own hands, my own heart, my own mind that spins with thoughts--too many feelings that chop down the threads I hang by.

I sink so often in myself. I feel too heavy under all my weight under all my fears under everything under every little thing. Under my vanishing smile under my muffled laugh--too much laughing--too much of trying to be, to feel something I am not, something I know I am not--

Sometimes I drown in my insecurity. Constant comparison that kills me, every breath I take examined and either accepted as okay to let loose from my tight chest or dismissed as too long, too shaky, too harsh too light, not good enough--

Somehow even the way I breathe matters, and though I know I shouldn't, I do. I care. I care about everything. Too much. I care about how I smile. I care about how I laugh and how my body looks. I care about how I sit and stand and walk and run. I care about how I sound and what I say and how I say it. I care I care I care and I hate that I care. I wish I didn't care.

It feels like being suffocated. You don't even realize how much space these stupid things take up until you can't breathe. Until it feels like you're falling and you don't seem to mind it. Until the thoughts become too much, too blinding, and slowly, you fade away.

Especially my face. I care so much about my face. Too small or too thin, too big or too chubby. Uneven, crooked, up, down, right, left, this way that way all the way around--

My lips look too this, my eyelashes slant too that way, my teeth glint don't glint my teeth need to be straightened into a perfect up and down, my cheekbones don't slant as up as up as perfectly as I want--

Why aren't I perfect?

What is wrong with me?

Almost everything, my heart would like to respond. But there is nothing essentially wrong with me. I haven't a reason, not one single important reason, to be in any sort of wrong. And there isn't anything wrong with me.

Only everything.

It's only my thoughts, my mind, my choke-hold heart that stab me, that drown me, that suffocate kick punch beat me to death every day.

The things that kill me.

I wish I was stronger. I wish I didn't so easily succumb to death. But a lot of the time I don't even realize I'm being run over by everything. A lot of the time I don't even comprehend how many times a second I think too hard, care too much, about something. A lot of the time I don't believe that I hate myself.

Everyday, I try to think I love myself. Try to believe. I paste on a smile and believe today is the day that everything is okay. But nothing ever seems to go okay as I'd like. Everyday, I sink into my own skin. Everyday, I care I think I see I scream inside my head

I hate myself.

I wish I didn't believe it. I wish for so many things, like wishing all this would go away. Maybe everyone wears a mask, I wonder a lot, and they're hiding all the things that I am.

Maybe they understand, somewhere, secretly, just as hidden within them.

Or maybe, I'll think again, I'm all alone with this.

I overthink every fiber in my body. I overthink the world around me. Even the sun--I overthink it. For example, why must it set? Things set too often, and arise differently, a lot of the time worse.

I wish my peace wouldn't set on me.

I overthink like the moon and sun rising in the sky, like the days flying by, the wind curling around your fingers and pulling you over a ledge, the voices so harsh and scratchy and rough and piercing against your mind. Though, a lot of the time, it's not a voice, exactly. It's more of a feeling, which is somehow worse. Because you more feel it tangibly inside of you, and there's no mercy, no tricking yourself, no lying to yourself that it isn't you because it's a part of you. It's your voice, it's your whisper. It's you that brings this into your life.

How do you stop it?

I hate questioning more than I could openly write about. Everything. From the way I look, to the way I act, to the way the world spins too quickly or too slowly, to how to how to how everything everything feels too wrong, all the time.

Anxiousness slithers up my spine as if it were a snake--the biggest, angriest, hungriest snake in the world. And it's hungry for me.

So much, too much worrying. Ridiculous, I think. I worry about ridiculous things. I worry for little, small things that still manage to obliterate me from existence. I get anxious just thinking about thinking, thinking about acting, thinking about faking, thinking about how oh, now you need to smile and laugh and play along, thinking, why are you like that? Stop. Change. Change into something better. Something people want to see. Something people like. Change.

Oh, now walk away without tripping--don't trip, don't fall, don't criss-cross, don't don't falter, don't sidestep, don't don't do it wrong--

Say something clever now. Don't say it wrong. Don't say the wrong thing. Tell them what they want to hear. Tell them.

Nod your head, say yeah, yeah, try to listen closely, look like you care--

Smile. Smile really big but not too big you show your teeth. Your teeth are ugly. Hide them. Just remember to smile, even just a little. Like you mean it. Make them believe it.

Don't cry. Don't cry; I swear, if you cry I will kill you--good. Push it down. Hold it in. Breathe it out of you. Good. Good, never cry. Never let them see.

Lie. Lie because no one can know. You know this. Lie or face this. You're too weak to face this. So lie.

Why do you victimize yourself? You have no right to feel this way. Pull it together. You're pathetic. Haven't you heard what other people have been through? So stop. Stop thinking this way stop feeling this way stop stop stop stop

STOP--

I hate how my mind works. It feels like it's spiraling every second, and I don't even know it but I feel it. I hate how I see things, how everything is wrong and not as perfect as it is to everyone else.

I hate how I am. I'm so sick of myself.