There are things that mentally ill is, and there are things it most definitely is not.
Something it’s not is when middle school boys post bart simpson edits to songs by X.
It’s more like feeling alone even when you’re surrounded by parties of people who love you, and telling yourself they don’t.
You know the truth but there is something in the back of your head that drowns it out.
Some people say it’s the devil but I believe it’s more of a parasite.
It attaches itself to you and it slowly starts to eat away at your self esteem, the things you love, and affects how you wish to live.
Sometimes this parasite can be fatal, or attempt to be.
Being this way is not a way that I would wish on another living soul.
Spending days sulking in my room and rotting away to the horrible habits of self destruction that gnaw at the very roots of soul.
It’s not something that’s simple.
It’s not easy.
I often hear that things will get better, and I’m sure they will.
But even when I’m better I could never forget the times when I was ill.