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When I'm not proud of some of what I have written,
I make myself stay quiet and say,
That you have to write to improve.

When I think "you haven't seen any of my best" (- Marianas Trench, Josh Ramsay),
I tell myself that's okay,
Because I still have the rest of a lifetime
To prove what I'm capable of,
And the only person I need to prove that to:
Is myself.
Did I have to make myself sad?
Probably not.
Did I? Yes.
What will I do now?
Go and stare at the lack of attention I haven't been given.
What will I do if someone advises me,
Tells me to be more positive because other people have it worse?
Ignore them.
Because they don't know that they are right,
And with that small fact,
I can make myself still feel a little better.
Often people say they're your friends out of kindness;
Something almost like duty,
So that you don't have to feel rejection
As long as you don't need it, possibly.

Not only do I wonder if I am a victim,
But I am half guilty of it.
You could say I have a high standard of what friendship means,
Although, once that I say it,
It often takes on that meaning.
I don't aspire to lie so I say it and then afterwards I mean it.

We could like each other,
And get along okay,
But unless you assure me it's safe to say,
Then I won't assume we are friends,
As this word can mean many different things.
If you ask of it as if you expect a yes, as long as it's not a sick joke,
I will then say yes and mean it,
Because some have higher classifications of friends than others,
But sometimes it's used more loosely:
People you talk to,
People you're very fond of,
Or people like family:
We mutually work it out together,
Between us, don't we?
I mimic the gesture
And disappointment seeps in,
How can I still joke about this
When I know I could give in?
I cannot brush my teeth each day,
Without remembering.
I wonder why I get more triggered now,
Than I remember feeling.
I feel like I'm betraying everyone I care about,
When I even dare to think about it,
Yet they never know a thing.
I don't see what will make me better how
So I keep swallowing the tablets,
Filled with sertraline
As if it could fix everything,
Believe me or not,
I think I'm attempting my best.
It just hit me that I had a thing about never thinking I'd even relate to parts of songs that mention antidepressants and I just wrote this.
I know if they found out I'd feel guilty,
Until then I feel safe

And if they found out during the process,
Soul crushingly instead,
But that's just my mistake.
I don't want to hear you,
Telling me that I have
"Self-worth problems",
Not when everything around you is deceptive;
I can be nicer to myself,
Than you have ever dreamed of,
My brain can get confused
Erratically sometimes,
And that's all that it is:
My soul is just fine.
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