You said, “I love how you care about others and put them before yourself.”

Of course.

Of course that’s what’s loved about me.

My willingness to kill myself for someone else’s smile,

My instinct to hurt myself to spare someone a bit of pain.

Why is it that what makes me loved

Is the same thing that ensures I’ll never love myself?

I break my own heart into pieces,

Snapping off chunks I can hand out to those around me.

There’s not enough left for me.

There’s never enough of me… for me.

My teacher said, “Nothing changes if nothing changes.”

I love that.

It’s so simple, yet it’s taken me so long to realize.

If I refuse to change anything,

I’ll always be like this.

If I refuse to strain the chains I’ve placed on myself,

I’ll never break free.

I can’t heal if I won’t even stop the injuries.

It’s not selfish to want to be free.

It’s not selfish to think about myself.

It’s not selfish to realize this is killing me.

I can’t live like this anymore.

It’s not even living.

I am dying

Because of this, and it has to end.

If this is what it takes to be loved,

I don’t want it.

A dead girl can be loved by everyone who knew her.

It doesn’t matter.

She’s dead.

I’ll. Be. Dead.

Your love isn’t worth my death, I’m sorry.

Nothing changes if nothing changes,

And something has to change.

I have to change.