These hands are not mine, they are the hands of someone who has given up on life, they are the hands of someone who hates themself, someone who is insecure, someone who is unsure, someone who wishes they were dead. This isn't me, this is depression taking over me and corrupting me with thoughts I know aren't true. Thoughts that tell me I'm ugly, useless and that I don't deserve love, but that isn't true and I know it.
