Destroy, not help.

You can never be what they need you to be.
You can never give them what they need to have.

You will only destroy them, not help them.

Destroy,
not help.
Destroy,
not help.
Destroy,
not help.
Destroy,
not help.

You will only take from them, not give to them.

Take,
not give.
Take,
not give.
Take,
not give.
Take,
not give.

Your good intentions mean nothing if you can’t facilitate good outcomes;
and mean nothing if your attempts only make things worse.


la diddly do dah


i exist, alone, within myself

i seriously cannot get out of myself

i purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

and purge

it’s the only way that comes even remotely close to existing outside of myself


“We keep coming back to this meaning that I lack.”

My body is shaking and my heart is going so fast that it feels like one continuous, violent beat.

If I could just turn down the volume, slow my thoughts, I wouldn’t be half as anxious as I feel right now.

But the what-if’s have made their way into the dimensions of my mind and they bounce from wall to wall in an attempt to find their way back out.

Bounce… Echo,
Bounce… Echo –
they don’t want to be there any more than I want them there. I can hear it in their scream.

And with each breath I breed another parasitic thought, living off whatever little self-esteem I’ve left.

It’s impossible to believe in yourself when you don’t believe in yourself. I see no in-between.

Surely I am, or I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.
And I’m not.

And it’s black or it’s white, or it’s black or it’s white, and that’s all that it can be.


You’ve got a right. You’re a human being.

For you, my friends:


It began with one single thought,

that turned into my life:

“No one can hurt
me as much as I can.”

which also translates to:

“No one can hate
me as much as I do.”

And you don’t know this, but with this thought, you will never fly higher than I do.


I would never make it through

Can you tell me…
No, I don’t have the words.

… Then can you draw it for me?
No.

And then I realise that it’s probably not so much that I can’t, but sadly that I’m not willing to. It would be really hard, but I’m sure that if I just tried a little harder, I could find a way to say what I needed to say. 

But it hurts way too much to think about, and God knows that I never actually allow myself to fully feel it. Expressing myself is confrontational like that – it forces you to think and feel in ways that I fear would literally KILL ME.  

Why not?
Because it will kill me, which sounds funny, right? considering all of the suicidal ideation, you’d think I’d be okay with that… but you see, it’s not the death that I’m afraid of. It’s the suffering leading up to the death that terrifies me. It feels so bad right now that I couldn’t begin to imagine it feeling any worse. But it would feel worse – a hell of lot worse – if I were to talk or draw it for you. And then I’d be left for way too long to try to fight everything, alone. I would never make it through.