Inhuman.

Don’t look at me with your pity. Don’t treat me like some sort of petulant child. Don’t chew on my words and spit them out like stale bread. Don’t treat me like I’m not human.

Just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. My demon grows strong and deep inside my soul. It makes me despair but also makes me wicked. Time and time again I find myself pondering over the same thought. It haunts me. What if? I say to myself. What if I could make them feel what I felt, maybe then they’d understand. It started as something pure – just to let them see what I saw. But as the fear spread across my mind and clasped its grisly hand over my eyes I use it as a weapon. Rather than to just see it, they could feel it – understand my panic, my nausea, my fidgets, my trembles, my cries and my anger. My mind shifted further into those depths. How about making them feel those hideous panic attacks too? What about the loathsome thoughts? How about the whole package? Let them live in the filth that is anxiety.

These thoughts aren’t logical and the girl inside me knows I don’t mean it. I don’t want people to feel this stem of evil that spews from the void. No one should ever feel this. No one should ever feel what it is like to be me. No one needs to hate themselves like people like me do. We’re a collective, you see. There are others like me (yet people don’t seem to notice the abundance). We know from personal experiences what it is to feel helpless and alone. We know everything about our own conditions and those new to it…they will too.

Just please…Don’t make me feel alone. Let me in…I’m human too.

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