A Snapped Tree Branch

I wish I could be better.
Instead of that weird, shell of a person I am now.
On the outside I look like a teenage boy.
On the inside,
I'm a dying whale,
screeching,
begging,
someone to help me escape from this pit of sorrow I'm stuck in
I want out. My friends tell me they simply don't understand me.
What is there to understand?

My mood swings like a suicidal teen hanging from a rope.
I've been backstabbed so many times my back looks like a fucking grape field.
Red with the wine of regret.
I'm an arsonist, burning down bridges trying to help myself and others. My brain is fogged up,
it's as if my brain was a cigar lounge,
full of thugs and criminals,
meeting to figure out ways to destroy me.

People misinterpret my attempts at helping them
as "weird", as "obsessive".
What if I just want to help someone?
Do something no one has ever done for me?
At this point it isn't even worth bothering to help anyone anymore.
It isn't worth feeling anything anymore.
I guess you could say I'm broken. Kind of like a snapped tree branch,
I broke after being stepped on too many times.