My anxiety has led me to believe everyone hates me. I can’t be alone for more than two hours before I start to want to die. My home is full of shadows that tell me where the knives are. I turn in my bed to avoid them. They come back. Insomnia wraps its dark arms around me. I used to cry but now I sit trying to distract myself from the truth about life: we’re all going to die.

My stomach is full of pain as I pretend I have eaten in two days. My hands shake and my eyes blink twice per second. Water still is the only thing that appetizes me. Nausea fills me as I lie to myself that I'm worth every second of every day.

Some days it feels like nobody loves me but my cat and sometimes even she hides.

That’s when I feel gravity pulling me to hell.

Depression says that my body is ugly and nobody loves me. Dysphoria says my body's ugly and will love me because I'm not a real boy. Anxiety says everyone lies about me being perfect. I don't know who to believe I used to believe my dad but he said every single one is right.

DO YOU STILL CARE? She leaves the conversation. Never talks again.

DO YOU STILL LOVE ME? He says no, he says my mental health makes him hate me.

AM I IMPORTANT TO YOU? She says goodbye.

My memories haunt me. The bitter taste of regret fills my mouth when I think of my past.

I write you letters but they never get delivered. All I know is that I can get better, that I can get better, that I can see the scars fade, that the meds do work, that I survived because;

I deserve to have a second chance