I lie in bed all day with my blinds pulled shut,

motionless in the shadows of my own despair

 

everything feels pointless:

the world

the people in it

my very own existence

 

why is all of this happening? where did i go wrong? how can I escape?

I'm drowning

I'm on top of my plushy mattress in my beautiful home, in my suburban community

But still,

I'm struggling to breath

what's the point in me breathing anyway?

 

I can't take it

I need a release

 

As I run out of breath, 

I frantically scribble down all the awful things

that sunk me into this 

overwhelming anguish:

 

the harsh words, cruel laughter,

broken promises

torn clothes

the loss of innocence

 

the shame and loneliness

pills, more pills,

hospital rooms

numbness 

 

they way I felt,

the things I wish I would have done differently

regrets

 

As I wrote out these words,

I realized that they were more than just words--

they were my words, my personal testimony

 

what if my words could help someone? what if they could save a life?

I kept writing and writing,

pouring the remains of my dying soul onto paper

 

slowly but surely,

all the pain inside me slipped onto the pages, and 

began to escape from my body

 

I'm finally coming up for a breath,

I open up the blinds and squint as the sun radiates into my room

 

Air fills my lungs

and for once,

I can breathe 

 

my words matter

maybe, just maybe

I matter, too.