My broken heart

And this here, was all she kind think to say to him. Give me back my heart. You know what it's like to look at yo? Imagine that everyone has a sheet of glass in front of them. When you went away mine broke. I was trying to see through shattered glass. I put you out of my mind, I try to get on with my life and I get a new sheet of glass. But when I look at you, my glass shatters and it's like trying to see through something that just won't let your vision through. It's like a headache. It's like pulling teeth. My heart aches and I can't take anymore. You know what makes it worse? Do you? You never wanted my heart. When you got it you didn't mistreat it. Not really. You didn't beat it up or torture it. If you did, well that pain I could handle. No, my heart wasn't worth the effort. You just threw it under your bed and let it gather dust. To you, my heart is a fast fading memory and my presence is a nuisance. Well give me back my heart and I'll lock it away for good, it will give me less to cry over at night and you more room under your bed. She walked away instead. She thought those words but left them unsaid. What would it do? He wouldn't give back her heart for nothing and she didn't have anything to trade with. By my writing you would think I gave him a lot of thought. Not so. You would think that not seeing him or anybody would matter to me. Not so. You would think, also, that he was the source of my problem. Not so. He was merely the catalyst to my own self-destruction. I do it so quietly no one notices. I cry at night. I sleep all ay. I cut my arm. I sit about thinking of ways to die. And you know what Prozac has done? Made my quiet demise that bit easier. It makes me smile when I feel sad and stand up straight when I feel slumped over. A tolerable level of unhappiness. But I have no plan beyond this. I simply wish to die. I'm so, so tired. I no longer wish to pull myself out of this. I pick myself up and I fall back down. My head hurts. I'm tired. I have no heart. I'm desperate to leave the house. This entire place. I could go to school, get shitty grades as usual, feel down because the glass in front of me will inevitably shatter at least once again. I could go to Finland. I could get a job. I could go to uni if I finish my A levels. But what for? My head won't feel any more sorted. My life won't be richer or more fulfilled. I'm tired. I'm so tired. And I'm calling but nobody can hear me. And there is not a pill in the world that can make it all better. wanna go back?