I'm sitting here feeling shit right now. There's only so many times one can say no to cutting, and even then I don't even really want to do it, I don't think. I just want to feel a bit better. And yes, I think that that will help. I just want to feel different from the way I do now. I want to be different from the desolate emptiness that is eating me inside. There can't be much more inside left to eat, surely? Yet there always seems to be a little bit more, and a little bit more and yes, a little bit more. All the time things are changing, I'm changing. Yet I'm the same. Different, but familiar. Empty, buyt somehow whole.
How? I don't want to feel. I'm tired of feeling. When does the healing start? When do I forget? When does it hurt less? When do I smile? When am I free? When can I finally say that I'm free? How much longer do my demons get to hold me captive in their cage? Why are there no answers to these questions?
People always say to me "you know you can talk to me, if you want". They say that because they can see a little bit. There's something in my manner, my eyes, the way I talk, feel, the attitude I carry into a room on bad days that people feel confident enough to, you know, guess. They're expecting something little. Nothing of the gravity I could tell them. Oh no. In their little bubbles its all good and well, they don't get touched by these demons. These creatures of hell. Nothing tortures their brains like this, compels them to contemplate life and death, self mutilate in the hope that it makes it better -- even if its only for a time. No, nothing like that.
And I wouldn't do it to them anyway. They can't understand. Try as they might, they can't. They don't live the nightmare. They don't see the world the way I do.
So yes, I'm sitting here. Alone. The TV is on, its playing Grey's Anatomy. I know its an earlier season because Burke is still in the show. George's Dad is a day away from surgery. Izzy has an $8million cheque. Such small insignificant details. Not even distracting. Barely detracting from the whirl of thoughts that are circulating inside. Threatening to overthrow whatever sanity I have left.
What even brought this on? What tipped me over? What if I've been tipped over for awhile, I just haven't noticed because I've muted it. How did I mute it? I know I muted it. I didn't hear. I didn't hear the hate. I didn't hear the doubt. I didn't even hear the disapproval. My mind said nothing. The silence was almost comforting. Distracted by trivial issues. So what switch was tripped to wake the dragon?
More questions, no answers. More pain, nothing to sooth. Just me. Just my mind. And the demon. Depression. Anxiety. So many more. Maybe I should refer to it as Legion. It seems to be many.
I'm quite lost in it all. It's scary. Where's the comfort? I want to talk to someone, but who? I don't want to feel guilty by waking someone up. People need to sleep. I need to sleep. But I'm in overdrive. Flitting around my brain, working on compromises. Trying to sooth. To smooth. To settle. Failing. I'm just lost. I am so, so lost.
I don't want to do this anymore. This is ridiculous. Why am I still here? Why can't I die? Fade away. Cease to exist. Stop causing myself and everyone else pain. It's like living in a pressure cooker and not knowing when its going to blow. I can sense my desperation, because I'm thinking it. I don't know if the writing reflects it. The writing is just mumbo jumbo anyway. All the mumbo jumbo that crosses the forefront of my mind and ends up on this screen.
I'm too scared to die.
That's it. That's all that stands between me and that. Fear. Fancy that, I'm human. I'm scared of something. A fatal chink in my armour. Though, not fatal enough to kill me. Disappointing. Of everything I could fear I fear the act. Second biggest fear? Living forever. In seventeen years I've run intro countless dilemmas, imaging what the next x amount of years will bring? No, don't imagine that. Anything but that. Maybe I'll die anyway. Each new condition bring me closer, does it not? Oh I am a sick, sick person. Tired, lost and confused. Stop the world, stop it. I want to get off. I want to get off now. I've had enough, I'm done. Game over.
- Sky
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