I’m Tired of Pretending

kelsea delatango
3 min readSep 18

this year I was meant to be cooling by myself, to pay my debts off, send time with my mother and plan my departure.

See i’m on a strict timeline, I got two more continents to visit before I turn 30.

When some people are small they dream of a man and a house and a career.

I said I wanted to die for the first time when I was 8. By age 15 it became my motivation to change something in the world into something good, leave my impact and die at age 30.

They’d sing James Blake at my Funeral, and they’d show my twin to live her life to the fullest.

I’ve tried to off myself a few times since then — one serious overdose, one not so serious incident on a train track, each time becoming more and more scared of the pain.

Some sucker would always drag me out of it though, and before long I’m silently plotting for the big 3–0.

My pile of letters I keep at my mums house has gotten so big now. Every new connection, every new sense of hope gets a name and a letter letting them know I’m not worth anything.

Every no and then something great happens and convinces me to stay, it’s usually a taste of love. Then I ruin it, its like all great actions and rational thinking vanishes when I’m scared of love — I keep my back up and I only know how to articulate through shit that makes other people feel unsafe.

I Wish some of you knew I weren’t made from love.

So when I find a thread or crumb I can’t deal with what that involves: Space, a life apart or being able to show consistency. I could never do these things well because I was not born alone.

I wasn’t born with intent either. When you’re a twin its not hard for you to be okay with that. I literally weren’t meant to be here.

For me to bring my power back I know I need to gather myself and live the dream I’ve been telling myself. The longer I lie to myself, or other people about wanting to move forward the further into delusion I get about having another story. The more I delude myself into making up some kind of ‘purpose’ the more it hurts when the universe reveals its plan for me. In the past 5 years i’ve been beaten, r*ped, houseless, lied to, houseless in another country, cheated on, stolen from. I continue to go mad as this shit mirrors all the things I experienced in my first 5 years of life. Every attempt of running away, leads me back to this place south london I rep so hard and when I’m here it does everything to show me that there ain’t ever a home for me here.

I wish this society would talk about the dark bits of fate. I wish someone could put me out of my pain and misery without me having to do it. I did not ever ask to be here, so why can’t I peacefully bow out without all the labour and physical pain of committing suicide?

kelsea delatango

They write for therapy with topics about ends, manic episodes and travelling.