I’m sick of this.

I’m so sick of acting like this,

So sick of feeling like this.

So much so that it twists my stomach,

It becomes venom in my blood.

It creates a writhing creature choking my lungs until I can’t breathe.

I’m being pathetic.

It’s embarrassing, honestly.

I’m better than this.

I’m holding myself to these impossible standards because… why?

Does it give me some twisted joy to watch myself crumble?

Am I truly that bored?

I have much better things to do with my life than sit by myself and contemplate ending it.

Every time I look in the mirror,

Somehow I’m always disappointed.

I expect her to be better.

I expect her to change,

Without _me_ lifting a finger.

How could I accept a reflection before accepting myself first?

_You’ll never be good enough_, I tell her.

“You don’t give me a chance to _try_,” she says back.

_You can’t change._

“You’re too scared to let me.”

_I really don’t like you._

“And whose fault is that?”

I’ve spent so long trying to find a beacon-

Someone who could be my lighthouse,

A guiding hand in the dark.

I’ve waited for someone who could _save me,_

Someone who could shine brighter than the darkness my mind creates,

Some perfect person that might stumble into my life.

I’ve been so blinded by imaginary light that I missed something important:

If I am strong enough to create artificial darkness, I can create artificial light.

I can save myself.

I can be my own light in the dark.

If I’m inventing all these metaphorical monsters,

I can invent my own weapons to fight them off.

I have no reason to be so depressed.

That’s been the little thing itching my brain for so long- “Why?”

Because I’m pathetic,

I’m weak,

I’m unstable

And I’m desperate to blame my problems on something else.

I’ve said those things to myself so many times,

But now they have a different taste in my mouth.

I’m angry.

I’m mad that I’ve been this way for so long,

That I’ve let myself down so badly.

The fury in my blood is no longer venom to further poison my own heart-

It’s gasoline to set my mind on fire,

So I can rise from the ashes.

I’ve always loved phoenixes.

That girl in the mirror?

I owe her respect, dignity, trust.

It’s us against the world,

And I’ve been too blinded by her imperfections to see all the things she could be.

Yes, I don’t like myself right now.

_“So what am I going to do about it?”_