Ella's thoughts

I need to stop thinking for a while. Just... wait. Tomorrow, you can drink, forget, eat all you can. I won't die, sadly. The odds of me dying just from drinking alcohol are very low. I would only have brain damage, and my stomach washed or whatever they do in those cases. But I want to dissolve into christmas. The dinner. The drinks. The fruit salad. I can dress up, and be fancy. For no one to see. Just like I do every year. I can pretend everything's normal. And in a sense it is. I am alone, depressed and hopeless. Seems about right. Classical holidays for Ella Blomfeld. A part of me wishes one day for that yo change. But we know that's not going to happen. I won't ever have a happy holidays with people I love, while being healthy. It's unrealistic.

You want to be happy. I understand. No one can be happy besides me. I am a burden.

My best friend hasn't talked to me since friday. He probably hates me. It's okay.

All my pain is childish All my tears are lies All I wanted is your lips To say you still love me That is stuck in your brain As I search ways to end it all All my dreams are foolish All my friends are gone All your silence hurts me And the voices never stop The monster is always inside me Telling me I should be gone

It surprised me though. How easily, once I left home. Once I left my bedroom, I could hide my pain. You could never guess I spend two hours researching how to kill myself in the best possible way. And how I still think about it. And all the methods, possibilities, budgets, pros and cons. I wish dying was as easy as hiding myself is.

I went out yesterday, it wasn't good. And the streets were full of optimism. People giving "free hugs", mothers hugging their blessings. Everything was pristine. Except for me. I kept on swearing and I keep on walking, fast, through the crowd in my high heels. And it didn't make me feel better. I think it just replaced my sadness with irritation for a while. I talked to a lot of people yesterday. But I still feel anxious. And scared. That everyone I love will leave. I remember reading once, that loving people was giving them the power to destroy you. Whenever a stranger tries to hurt you, it can be meaningless, and to me it is. I laugh it off. But when I love, even the smallest of gestures, that I cannot comprehend, will destroy me. Because I love them and everything hurts. I wish I didn't love so strongly.

I want to be a child again I was so oblivious to the world around me I didn't need friends and my family loved me. And I loved them. Everything was easy. I had no worries. I was so happy I was so happy Even if they hurt me. Even if they left me alone. Because that was normal. So I was happy.

Why can't I be normal Just like everyone else I wish I was normal I would be happy And people would like me They would talk to me

I keep looking at my phone I keep waiting I keep expecting someone to talk to me But no one does No one ever does And I don't think they will I will die I will die alone Completely alone I deserve it.

Finally they turned down their awful music. It just made me want to die even more. Oh just kidding. They turned it on again. And their child keeps on trying to get on my nerves. Why is suicide so complicated? I wish I could jump from the roof of my house and die instantly. But probably it would just make disabled. I would hate that. What part of I want to die or be a dancer isn't clear?

I don't feel like doing anything. I don't feel like living. I'm supposed to take a shower. And go shopping for Christmas. I don't want to. And I don't feel good. I'm scared i'll get a stomach ache on Christmas I hope not Because I want to get drunk until I can't remember my name Until I can't remember I want to die

Everyone stopped talking to me

He stopped talking to me Maybe something happened Or maybe he hates me And I did something wrong And it's my fault No one wants to be friends with someone broken.

My friend My only friend My best friend in the whole world Won't talk to me I really deserve to die What did I do wrong? Everything.

I'm always the dramatic one. And whatever happens, it doesn't really matter. Everyone's got it worse. Why should I complain? I have a roof over my head. I have food on my table. I can sleep in the comfort of my bed between my blankets. And I can hug my dog. That's the way everyone sees it. And maybe they're right. No. They ARE right. I'm always the dramatic one. And when others feel down, they come to the rescue. No one ever rescues me. No one ever did. And I got used to it. I got used to being alone in a room with nothing more than rusted scissors and the monsters in my head. Everyone's pain is so tangible. And mine is a ghost. And I rather believe they don't see it, than to think they choose to ignore it. Although I know they do ignore it. When I bleed I cover it up. Maybe if someone sees it, they'll pretend it never happened. On the bus, my scars shine under the sun. And i'm scared people will look at it. I'm surrounded by papers wit...