I guess, after a while, I just stopped.
Stopped hating myself, stopped blaming everything that went wrong, ever, on my own actions.
Stopped looking in the mirror and seeing all the ugly.
Stopped thinking about how much better life would be, for others, without me.
Because I guess I just got bored.
Bored of hating myself,
bored of waiting for the day to come when I could look in the mirror without pausing to study every broken detail.
Bored of waiting for someone to save me,
to pull me out of that fiery hell of hate and disgust and hopelessness.
That's not to say that there still aren't days when I stare at the wall, silent, unmoving,
unable to do more than think and drown within my own brain.
Days when the boredom turns to madness and I feel utterly trapped behind a layer of fog with no light to guide me.
But they are fewer now.
And I'm beginning to realize,
and, slowly, accept
that it's okay to let others hold the light.