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How Can I?

A damaged heart can never beat the same as before, a broken soul will forever struggle with embracing the beauty that remains in this cold world.

It's not easy for me to be nice to you, to ask if you need anything. My whole life I grew up with you telling me I was worthless, lazy, a bitch, a cunt, a whore, telling me I am going to grow up to be just like my birth-mother. I went through my childhood wondering what I ever did to get treated so damn dirty by someone who is supposed to love me and protect me. You were the one who took me in when my own birth parents did not want to be parents. It was not easy living with you. Words hurt and do cause pain, they can cut so deep you think you wont be able to stop the bleeding. All the times I took a blade to my skin I was trying to release the agony and pain I still feel to this day. 

The thing that gets me the most is the fact that you make it seem like you have done nothing wrong. You tell everyone about my mistakes or how I'm not doing what you want me to do. You sit there in your chair and really make it seem like you are the only damn victim. You have no fucking idea how it feels to not have your parents in your life as you were growing up. You have no idea how it feels to not want to get out of bed to go to school, or work. To walk around with a smile, but inside you are screaming so damn loud you can't even hear yourself think anymore. To wake up the morning after the night before you took over 2400 mg of different pills, praying to God to just take you while you are asleep so I don't have to wake up. To cry so damn much as a child because you blame yourself for your parents leaving, making it seem like you were the mistake. I can't take it anymore, I'm to tired to try anymore. I have no motivation, no desire to do anything at all. Do you know how much it takes just for me to walk down the street, without freaking out in my head because someone is going to see me. Having to walk inside of a store where there are strangers that will be looking at me, and if there are a lot of people, I will have a panic attack in my own mind and freak out. No one will realize it though, because that would just make it so much worse. 

So I have to keep myself from allowing anyone to notice, on top of trying to remember how to breath, and making sure I walk straight so no one has a reason to even look at me. To keep my face expression normal so no one thinks I'm acting weird, little do they know I feel like I'm dying inside. To bite your nails down to the skin that you have no more nail to bite, you start biting at your lip and end up biting the layer of skin off, causing yourself to bleed. To have such sweaty hands you wipe them off so much because you think someone is going to touch your hand for some reason. The sad part about all of this is, if I were to tell you this is how I feel, you would look at me like I have no reason to feel this way. You would look at me like it was just for attention. You would tell me I don't know what depression is. You would make me feel so damn empty that it echos inside when I cry. How do I know this, because it all has happened before. I walk past you and you have this look on your face that you would feel better if I was gone, and I'm not talking about out of the house, I'm talking about being dead.