Why Poem by D. M. L. Catseye

am I depressed if I live a fortunate life
I have a car, don’t pay for gas
attend a private school for free
in a small, loving sorority
plenty of clothes and shoes and food
but I don’t like eating the food I eat, because sometimes
I look down at my body, well, always, and I see
fat and rolls, untoned and flabby, thick thighs and small chest
that’s not even the worst yet
I see my neck is too long and my torso, too
and my chin is off-center, but my cheeks are the worst
‘cos they’re spattered in red marks, pimples and scars,
and they won’t go away, with all the medicines I’ve tried
I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on methods that died
‘cos I’m lazy, and I never make time
to wash off what’s caked on to cover it up.
My short hair is uneven, & I haven’t the time
to always smooth it out before i must fly.
Sometimes I do, and I end up being late.
It’s the only thing that I can do really great.
I think that I’m stupid.
When I was young, I struggled and never did all too well.
The first boy who was my friend then brought it to light
That people made fun of me and I wasn’t so bright.
Heartbroken and mad, I changed, but I became sick
I became chronically sad, deep inside,
I covered it with an ability to show joy.
I hurt myself more, because it had to hide.
I didn’t want to tell my parents what happened. Then on,
I would lie, and dig myself deep, but they’ll never know
why, those habits I’d repeat.
I knew that I wasn’t the pretty kind of girl.
That’s what depressed me even more.
I hated myself, I hated my body, I hated my hair, why wasn’t it pretty?
Boys didn’t date me because even I hate me
Pile on the lonely, add the depressed,
a touch of psychotic, ‘cos I was obsessed
There was so much hate inside of my heart,
it killed the sweet girl and awoke the tart.
I search constantly for love, but I never find it.
My eyes always searching, I jump at all sounds.
I’m scared of the unknown and I’m terrified of me.
My real thoughts are trapped in a sad, scary place.
I started hearing voices, but they were controlled by me.
What they said was what I thought, though they were mean.
I was low, and they said that I want to feel pain
so I have another reason to hide how I feel
broke a tea cup one day, and so it began
I was scared and ashamed but everyone else was proud
and they healed on the outside, just as it’s said
they remained as fine lines on my heart, in my head
mad at myself for resorting to this, but angrier still cos
I never got better. Things piled up, I tried to grow up
but I stayed the same and I always will be
a young, stupid girl in this awkward frame
distorted on the inside and confused as well
More recently, I’ve found razors and used scissors as knives
Killing myself slowly with horrible habits
going three days without eating a thing
I want to do it more, because hunger I can control
of course I want to be skinnier, who doesn’t
scrape my upper thighs because I hate them
and I hate me
I’m so filled with hate
that is why I am crazy and sad and sick and stupid
because I was brought up, forced to hide my anger and sadness
they ask me why I don’t cry at funerals or sad movies
it’s their fault.