resentment

The pain I feel is something on the border of emptiness and resentment. My heart has no more love left in it, my mind has been ridden of any hopes or dreams I may have once had. When children grow up they want to be something, the only thing I ever managed to be was a mistake. As hard as I tried to be invisible I was seen. I was hurt, I was dehumanized to the strongest degree. When other teenage girls were celebrating their birthdays with their friends I was having mine in institutions, staring at the wall wondering if next year I would be free. When other girls were losing their virginities and falling in love, mine along with my innocence was stolen from me with no second thought. I grew up to hate myself. I grew up empty. I grew up to be nothing more than a hurt soul, with no direction. I grew up to hate my parents with every bone in my body. I grew up to hate myself so much, that I would slice and dice my wrists like lunch meat. Every day I look in the mirror I see nothing, I see no one. I prayed for death, but something keeps me alive. I may never know what that thing is, nor do I wish to at this moment. I see people make music, paint, write, do their jobs yet I cannot get an inch of amusement from anything I do. Every stroke I make with a paintbrush reminds me of some sort of trauma. It could be my PTSD, or maybe I am just too paranoid. I am so tired of trying to find explanations for why I am how I am. Perhaps there is no explanation, perhaps I am a lost cause who nobody will think twice of after I am 6 feet under.