I feel as if my whole life has set me up for disaster. That every day has been a push towards the edge. Every breath is buried with burden. The mornings are filled with guilt, I swallow my words for breakfast, drink my sorrows whole. The nights are meant for battles, sinking into sheets, dread mixed with dreams. Hope slips through my heart, gets lost in the broken cracks. I am clinging to loose threads, dangling over the darkness. Each passing minute is a moment spent with misery. All the years of wasted youth, the ghosts of who I’ll never be, all trail behind me. The hauntings of never really living, the reality that this world has only offered me wreckage; it’s a truth I’ve carried in my throat for far too long. So I’m stuck coughing up the chaos, growing in the gloom.

Isabel Cabrera

The world keeps spinning like it doesn’t even know it’s in pieces. And I am tired of tripping on the broken, getting caught up on the shattered promises. There are wishes under my feet, hopes crushed at the seams. Why is the sky still blue when it’s so dark inside my head? Why does the sun rise just to never touch me with warmth? I feel life laughing at me, I feel the weight of wreckage it dumps on my shoulders. I can’t continue to carry this chaos. The sorrow has settled in, there’s pain tucked into my skin. My universe is at a standstill, but no one else seems to notice. Life seems like a blur these days, all smudged lights, silhouettes meant for passing by. I suppose I have no choice but to face the ruin, masked with a faux smile; painted pretty, ready for pretending.

Isabel Cabrera

I hide my feelings, dig so deep into the soil, try to place them down below. But then I remember, whatever is planted will always grow. They sprout with fierce reminders, splintered souls made for breaking skin. I should’ve known that one day, I’d have to face my past again.

Isabel Cabrera

chaos is caged in my chest. misery runs through veins, guilt is growing in my lungs. there’s traces of ruin tangled in my hair, and wreckage wrapped around my wrists. i let the sorrows seep into my skin. crimson red painted on arms, blue running from heart to head. i bury myself into bruises, and count cuts like stars. a rattled soul, a walking worry scrambling to carry the weight of a world. i dream in dread, speak in heartbreak. my existence is a fog, a memory burning just to get lost in the smoke. there is no difference between night and day, both are stuck on midnight. i’m waiting for a sun rise. but hope has fallen from shaky hands, got trapped in truth. i won’t see the sun when i’m stuck in a sky without a moon.

isabel cabrera

There is something within me that does not sleep, does not tire. An endless muscle working at wearing me down. A monster trapped between bones, gnawing and clawing. This voice in my head is disguised as my own, it whispers worthless words, wishes death upon my soul. I have no control. Pills down my throat, a razor to wrist, a scream into abyss, it’ll never be enough. It’s getting too big, taking up too much. There’s no space left for me, no room to heal or grow. I am a visitor in my own mind, a prisoner in my own shell. I’ve taken on a new meaning of personal hell.

Isabel Cabrera

I speak to the sky, hope that someone is there listening. I whisper to the wind, let secrets seep from my mouth; I hope they find a home in different bones. I stare at the sea, wonder if there’s some kind of monster out there bigger than the one in me. I shoot for the moon but find myself hanging by the stars, and the only wish I can muster up is for this rope to snap. Oh, this sadness nestled in my soul, this anger in my throat, a weight of a world I did not want to carry.. I crave to throw it all out. I tell myself there is always something bigger, something worse than the will and want to die. But in my head there lies a stranger, in the mirror a face without a name. I am so far gone, buried deep in the garden of sorrows, six feet under soil. I am caught in a constant state of night, living just to survive, breathing through the urge to die. Will I ever rid this ghost?

Isabel Cabrera

when i look at people older than me, i often wonder how they made it here. how life didn’t swallow them whole. i study their faces like a map, i see the pools of weariness in their eyes. i see the way wrinkles dangle around their mouths, how the lines seep into their skin, little reminders of how long they’ve lived. i glide my eyes over their hands, the signs of growth and age splattered on their knuckles. i wonder about the stories they’ve gone through, i wonder if they were the protagonist or the antagonist. i wonder how they managed to wake up, to sleep, to exist through so many days and nights. i get overwhelmed. ican’t even fathom the thought of tomorrow, i can’t look at it with willing eyes, i can’t embrace it with open arms. instead, i dread it. i look at all the days i’ve lived, and they hang around my head, all the old memories, they haunt me. and so i wonder how they did it. i wonder how they’ll continue to do it, until death decides it’s time to take them. i wonder if i’ll ever get there. if i’ll ever look in the mirror, and the fine lines growing across my face will be normal, welcoming. i wonder if my days will be worth waking up for, if the thought of tomorrow will become a gift i’m lucky enough to receive. i can’t picture myself like that, aging, embracing. i can’t muster up  a version of me with gray hair, and crepe skin. i’ve always thought i’d be gone too young, that this sadness would sink me into my grave before a wrinkle could settle into my fake smile. i’ve been convinced i won’t make it out of this battle alive; that this darkness is too strong, too thick to break through. i don’t know if i’ll ever be an old soul. but i do know i’ve been a drowning one. a lost one. a dying one.

“It’s okay.

Saving me was never your job anyway.”

~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat

Of course she has a loud voice, of course she is always yelling, because at home no one is listening to her.

~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat

“Do you ever get that feeling when you’re sitting in your room alone, your thoughts wander, you’re not crying but you just feel sad and empty, replaying moments from your life and wondering. Where did it all go wrong?”

~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat

“but if I sit in the rain, maybe I can drown in something other than my own thoughts.”

~ Unknown

“If this is how my life is going to be, I don’t want it anymore.”

~ Unknown

“People keep telling me that life goes on, but to me that’s the saddest part.”

~ Unknown

Do NOT blame suicidal people for wanting to die

• They can’t help it.
• They are in a kind of pain you can’t even imagine.
• The last thing they need is more guilt.
• They trusted you enough to tell you, don’t guilt trip them.
• If you don’t know how to help them, please ask a professional for advice.
• It takes much strenght to survive suicidal thoughts. They are strong but they need help and support. 
• It is NOT their fault, nor yours. They just need support.
• Suicidal pain is exhausting and they only want to rest. Try to understand, not blame them.
• They need professional help.
• They are not selfish.
• They are ill.

I’m trying. I’m trying.

Hey it’s me, yo boi depression

Sometimes I’m fine. Sometimes I’m not.

Me

Me: (has nothing to do while laying in bed at night)

Brain: go to sleep!!!!!!!!

Me:???

This is just something I wrote in the fifth grade.

I’m tired of being tired which is exhausting

Ah, shit.

To be happy, you have to be content. So I guess I’ll never be happy.

Having anxiety and depression at the same time is not wanting to do anything and give up on everything but also worrying that you will fail and your future will be ruined