I thought the medicin would kill the depression and the thoughts of everything but voices still shout at my inadequacy, I still look at strangers holding hand and think to myself "why not me?" and I still follow that up with a knowing "because.."
I still cut my arms and legs.
I still look at my body and want to cut off slices, make it all go away, I still look at myself and I can't find anything worth love
I still despise myself and the way I walk and the way I talk, I still hate my hair and my fingers and my eye lashes, I still know I've got something worth mentioning hidden somewhere out of reach and I still know there's nothing to me right now that's worth an impressed look.
If you're unproportioned fat and dumb as a wooden shoe you find someone alike to be with. If you're intelligent out of this world you find someone to be with. But when you're like me there's nothing that's quite right and no one that will find you quite right.
When you're like me you hear thoughts like "I'd give you a hug, but.." or "I adore you as a friend."

I thought the pills would kill the depression but they can't kill my way of acting, they can't change my body, and I guess, deep down I'm just lonely...

and you tell me it's nothing to worry about
I'll show you it's nothing to worry about