I’m down already. Stop kicking me. My spirit is already broken. Stop. Just stop. I am not the rock I usually am. I am broken. There are cracks and I’m crumbling.

Stop. My heart bleeds. It hurts. Physical pain always accompanies severe depression. I hurt everywhere. Every muscle in my back, my shoulders, my neck… my heart. Everything hurts.
Let me stand up before you beat me down once more.

Stop. Just long enough for me to put myself back together again. Let me sew up the wounds before you pour the salt on again. Let the wound scab so you can peel it off and make a bigger scar. A scar that no one will see. It rips through my whole body. I won’t be the same after I heal. There will always be a chasm. There will always be the scar of this loss.

I can’t cry anymore. The tears won’t come. Whether I’m dehydrated or if I just don’t have the will anymore, I can’t cry. My tear streaked face and my crushed heart. This is me. In all my entirety. Insecure. Vulnerable.

A thousand stab wounds to the chest would hurt less than this. Physical pain is a tiny relief to the mental pain I feel now. All the strong emotions I sometimes think I have are gone. I’m exposed. Unprotected. Totally unshielded.

I want it to end. I want to cease to exist. I want to disappear. Make it stop. Make these feelings stop. It hurts so much. And I have to do this alone. No one can take this pain from me. I have to face this alone. I can have support. But this is on me. It’s agony to be alive. I deserve this feeling. This feeling of wanting to die. I want to die.

Take the pain. Kill me.