We used to get drunk around town.
Take what we could from our parents, put it in a water bottle.
Sometimes multiple waterbottles;
There were 3 of us, after all.
We would down them, while laughing off pain from the week.
Being talked down to by everyone around us, just for being ourselves;
Just for trying to be happy with ourselves.
We would pass the bottles around, each making silly faces at how harsh some swigs could be.
One night in particular, I remember we had vodka.
A few different ones, but each one just as harsh as the next.
We went for pizza after a while, realizing none of us had eaten that day.
Why? Because we all hated ourselves.
We didn’t let ourselves have food often.
We didn’t think we deserved it.
We went, we sat down.
We talked about life and more pain.
And we cried, for we realized how similar we all were that night.
We all were constantly fighting off monsters.
Real, and in our head.
Some in the mirror, some in our ears;
Telling us we were never good enough..
Telling us to kill ourselves.