Would you call me a coward for trying to harm myself if I showed you all the doors that people have closed on my face;
Every time that I had someone call my cry for help an act of seeking attention;
Every person who turned their backs on me because I was "too much to handle", "too extra";
All the chances that I gave to life and it laughed them off in my face?
Tell me, would I still be an escapist if all I wanted was to make everything stop?
I haven't forgotten my family. But were you there each time I tried opening up to them but was shut out with their preconceived ideas about mental health?
I haven't forgotten my friends. But were you there when every single one of them tried to act like they knew all about what I was going through without actually hearing what I had to say?
Then why did you take it upon yourself to be the judge of my whys and hows?
Why did you feel entitled to an opinion on my choices when you weren't there to answer my call for help?
What gives you the power to belittle my struggle into the syllables of "teenage angst"?
I'm not saying I do the right thing by taking out my anger on this body that doesn't deserve it.
But what choice have you given me besides your scraps of sympathy and cliched it-will-be-all-rights?
What doors have you opened for me to walk in and empty out my burdens?
What space have you created to make me feel like I'm not going crazy?
You weren't here.
Your two eyes and your two ears weren't here.
So pardon me if I accidentally roll off my intentional scoffs at you for telling me you "know" what it's like to be me.
Because in all honesty, you really don't.
So the next time you actually want to help,
try the exercise of closing your mouth for a while and open up your ears instead.