Its a funny story to begin with really, a generation of children and teenagers being diagnosed at a young age with depression and other mental health issues, but despite that, they are ignored, they have assumptions given about them and they stand ununderstood and the generation of their parents stand clueless, stupid and ignorant all over again as the one before them.

They walk around with the rest of the world with many masks covering their face their sad and tear-stained face, silent tears, tears that have your throat screaming in pain, the tears that choke you to exhaustion. They walk around with many liars. You are all liars.

You state worry and care yet you show no evidence of any. 

Worry for whom yourself, care for whom the oldest, the youngest yet not me.

You would want me to go to college, and graduate on time, threats thrown at me from every angle, stress. The stress of breathing, the stress of taking a shower, the stress of doing one assignment, oh the stress. You need not worry for me since you’ve never worried before so why now.

I state no claim of whom I am or who I’m supposed to be, but I do claim not to want many things, I do claim not to have control over anything. I cannot claim the lies about me or the assumptions because they are not associated with who I am now but who you think I am. The child who stumbles around mindless, mentally and physically exhausted, tired of being tired and being nagged to death day in and day out. The constant repetitive agony of voices and a thousand drums, shhh.

My ears in pain.

My heart in pain.

My brain on fire.

My soul in flames.

Oh god make it stop,

I pray for a new awakening, please I pray

I pray

I pray 

I pray 

I pray

Yet no one there, or there or anywhere. “God will not help you if you do not help yourself…” Yes, yes the help of others around me is not needed, I am cripple from under, help to be lifted back up to the surface, yet you walk past me and throw trash on top of me, as I dig myself a deeper hole which fills will my tears and pain wanting to stop, to try and try again for my fingernails to collect any more dirt that they can hold and climb to the top that I never reach. 

Oh to feel the sun on my skin, the wind in my hair, the cold along my lips, the shivers which run down my spine, yet I must help myself when I cannot stand, cannot walk, can barely climb. Unnoticed by many and seen by some. I pray.

The pipe dreams that cross my mind, the many wishes with tears running down my face, to pray I can help myself, to pray for guidance, comfort, security. Yet nothing but four walls, surrounding me sadly, a constant rhythm of silence, the noise only of my thoughts and breath.

Yet I still pray. Still have hope. 

The cup being half empty.