You are a joke.
You are this shell. And inside? What is inside? Other than an over-emotional, over-thinking, over-reacting, obsessive mass of goodness knows what.
You get your hopes up.
You think you matter to people. But you don't really.
You're just something to do.
You're someone who is only really there to make others feel better about themselves. To feed their ego.
You get excited. You think you are special. You might even think for a while that you might be pretty. That you might be beautiful.
You get this confidence. This "chest-up-hello-world-here-I-am" confidence, but people are only laughing at you.
You are like that child at the school. The one people pretend to like, because for some odd reason they get satisfaction at cutting you off and watching you suffer.
You don't see that though. You trust people too easily and you take people to your heart far too quickly.
You expect simple things from people. You expect people to be open, to be honest, and to talk.
You don't expect people to only say so much and then close down. And say nothing.
You get confused. You can't understand why people treat others like that, or how people can treat others like that.
You blame yourself. You question everything you've ever said, done, thought. You question yourself as a person.
You wonder what it is about yourself that is so awful. What is it that isn't good enough?
What is it, about you, that doesn't matter?
What is it, about you, that makes it so easy for people to treat you this way?
To simply shut you out. It feels like they have invited you in and then slammed a door so hard in your face, and you do the best you can to knock.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
You keep knocking.
They may peak around the corner every now and then. And you see a hint of what was there before. But soon enough, you are shut out again.
People say you are too hard on yourself. They tell you how you should feel, what you should be doing, what you should focus on.
They tell you how to live your life.
And they walk away.
And then it's just you. This lost you.
You don't understand.
You never will.
You wonder why people feel so much satisfaction out of hurting you.
Of making your heart physically ache. Like you never thought possible.
You cry so hard that you don't think you will ever stop.
You clutch your chest because it's not just your eyes that are crying.
But your heart is too.
You are a joke.
You are a nobody.
You don't matter, and you never will.
You will always be a disposable shell. An object for people to use, temporarily, until something or someone new comes along.
And then you, you get discarded. Thrown to the side. Kicked.
At least that's how you feel.
Kicked. Thrown. Punched.
You feel physically in pain. Not just emotionally.
And then you beat yourself up. And you think all of these things. And not only that, you share these things.
These thoughts, and what is that going to do? Really? It's going to push people even further away.
They will think even worse of you.
You imagine the words they use. Crazy, psycho, mad, mental, insane, unstable.
You wonder if they are right. Maybe you are all of those things.
Maybe the you that you know, maybe that's not what other people see. Maybe that person doesn't actually exist.
You will only ever be in the lives of those who have no choice but to have you there.
You will only ever be loved by those who have to love you.
You are not a choice. And you never will be.
You will be forgotten, just as you already are.
You, and your heart, will never be anything worthwhile.
You are just a toy.
A disposable toy.
A disposable shell.