I’m tired of my “friends.” They act like they know what I go through. They act like their pitiful sadness is even slightly comparable to the depression that suffocates me daily. They act like their slight shyness could even relate to my severe anxiety. They act like their “mood swings” are “omg, so bipolar.” I’m disgusted with everyone. I hate everyone. I feel like a god sometimes. Of course, I’m not that crazy because I know it’s just the schizophrenia talking but I literally feel like I’m so much more than these vile fucks who think they have “soooo many problems. lol omg I’m insane, you guize!” I can promise if any of them actually lived a day like I’ve had to my whole life, they’d be begging and crying for it to stop. I’m truly annoyed with everyone. The one thing that really grinds my god damn gears is when people pretend to have “multiple personalities,” or talk like they can see ghosts, or they hear things. If only you actually knew how terrifying it was to have to see/hear shit that you know isn’t there, even to the point to where sometimes you can’t even tell if it isn’t there…You’d be ripping your ears and eyes out in an instant. You’d be scratching your brain out of your very skull. Mental ilness isn’t a trend. It’s not beautiful. It’s absolutely tragic, and for someone to have lived with it and seeing you using it as a popularity stunt is absolutely revolting. When I was self harming, getting razors thrown at me in school, and hearing people telling me to go kill myself repeatedly….it wasn’t cute or popular. Yet you, an average bitch with absolutely nothing wrong other than a conceited, attention seeking attitude can prance around like you know what the fuck I go through and everyone praises you and worships you at your feet. Why is it like that? Huh? The problems are all fucking cool until they’re actually real, right? And then no one wants anything to do with it. No one thinks it’s fucking cool when you’re getting sent off to Austin in a helicopter, your heart racing at 180bpm in an almost constant convulsion because you took 400 Benadryl because you couldn’t handle your mind anymore. You wanna know what kind of responses I got when I told people that happened to me? “Oh, I’m sorry.” “Well at least you didn’t die, lol.” I’m absolutely DISGUSTED with people. Why can’t anyone care about people who actually struggle with the shit? What is so beautiful about my pain? Why do you want it? I promise you that you don’t. My scars aren’t beautiful. My schizophrenia isn’t a game. My insomnia isn’t forced all nighters for two weeks straight. My bipolar isn’t fucking mood swings because I’m just a bitch. It’s all real shit, and I’m so fucking tired of people acting like the torture I go through every day being alive is fucking BEAUTIFUL. Because you know what, honey? It’s fucking not.