I smoke among the dead at night…

I smoke among the dead at night. Most people would be shaken at the thought of that mere occurrence but I’m not. When I think of it now, I wonder why that little aspect of things has never really phased me considering I have been out there at the wee hours of the morning. My mind has fears of its own, dead people just isn’t one of them.

Maybe it is the silence that calms me. It sure isn’t the cigarettes I’m taking twice a night and four times a day. Or maybe it could be the darkness of the dead of night that gives me a sense of resemblance. It shows me that the darkness inside couldn’t possibly be that scary, at least not scary enough to stop me from staring at it alone, with the company of the seven gravesites in the backyard of my balcony. How about, it could also be that those dead folks who are buried there can feel my silent screams from the inside every night as I exhale the smoke out of my lungs. I try not to cough, we have a no sound policy out there when it’s just our souls that seem to come alive.

I hope they know of the nights that I wish I was in there with them, buried under the soil to where it is said to be peaceful. The adage, ‘’rest in peace’’ had to have had a mild relevance to the fact that besides your soul, your body and mind too can rest on the ground six feet under where not a beep of the darkness of depression can touch you. I smoke in the midst of the dead. I feel nothing and everything the darkness has to offer. I welcome it with open arms just as I do with every inhale and exhale of the cigarettes that lay print of their smoke in the middle of my fingers.

What now? You’re probably wondering what else about my depressing life I’ve unearthed…and to answer that question, there’s nothing new really. I truly sometimes hate that the best I’ve always got to give to anyone who reads my posts is entirely centered on my depressive life cycle. I truly hate that and I hope it’s a consolation to you knowing that I don’t like always being a Debbie Downer. I find it extremely hard to write anything general based on my life. Like currently, I’ve got a ton of things I could vent about concerning nothing depressive but I have no idea where I’d even start or how I’d express those piled up thoughts & feelings together. I never feel like those thoughts are what trigger my niche for writing. It’s always gotta be something dramatically sad. I guess that’s entirely just what sums up my life…

What now seems like the perfect question right now. For me and for anyone wondering what else this sad’ist has come up with. For me, I’m asking this question cause I very well don’t know what to do now… what’s next. You may be wondering what’s next from what; what next after a long eight months of being in a depressed state. I’ve said it before that it feels a lot like waking up from a hibernation period. So here I am, a month in from a long period of exhausting ‘slumber’ …I’m reeling from quite a few new experiences from the past couple of months, not sure what to do with myself, I’m not as accustomed to feeling normal. Normal for me in this case is everything non suicidal, non chaotic, nothing self harm, non overwhelming… Make no mistake, I’m not complaining about feeling better from all that. It’s a break and I’m glad that I’m not mentally sinking. Though, I’m not delusional enough to think that this feeling will last forever, nah, depression doesn’t work like that just in case you don’t know. It’s taking a break, and just like every break, it eventually comes to an end.

Why does it feel this hard rolling back to this mind space, away from the darkness & turmoil ? I’ve done it before, two years in a row I’ve gone through this. Gone through a space of depression for a couple months and towards the end of the year, I ween off it like waking up from a long exhausting sleep. I expect myself to fall back into routine and tackle life as it comes. I’m no longer depressed after all, right? Then what’s so damn different about this time round? Why I’m I so darn tired, why don’t I like it as much, the aspect of being back to ‘normal’ ? Why is it that assimilating back to my own life is so hard…

..Or maybe, it could be cause I’m having to pick up the pieces of the tarnished person I was in those last eight months. Maybe it’s cause I’m having to deal with the judgement from others around me who seemed to have spent their time better than I did. For sure spending time finding ways to make short change was way better than popping pills & slashing wrist…yeah. Maybe it’s cause of the overwhelming guilt & shame I’m having to feel for not trying hard enough to be a stronger person… Jeez, how hard could it be to get myself out of sadness. I ask myself that every single day too. Pardon me for not acknowledging that struggling mentally is a ‘comfort zone’ which isn’t a good enough reason for why I never tried harder or why I never came up with ways to get myself a little bit of money … I’m ‘sorry’ that I was working on staying alive rather than making pocket change.

Being caught in this rift of shame makes it even harder for me to convince myself into believing that it’s not my fault that those last months were hard for me. That if things had been different, I’d have done more for myself. I already feel conflicted as it about what exactly is wrong with me, I honestly don’t need anyone else pushing it down my throat that I don’t try hard enough.

So here I am, clueless, frustrated and still not good enough for the world. In no place or time do I seem to be doing the right thing so honestly why start now… All I’ve been having all year long is a pity party for dear old me, well guess what, I’m tired of that too. It’s been so tiresome for me to try act normal that I even picked up smoking. I’ve been holding off on saying this so I don’t continue doing everything wrong in my life but guess what, this girl needs to quit caring. I’ve pondered over the thought of smoking cigarettes for a while now actually, I’d thought I’d replace ripping open my wrist with a more calmer, less bloody and more slower towards death kind of way. Best part about it, I like it. Couldn’t wait to simply admit that but truthfully speaking, that shit is so relaxing, makes me feel like a pretty butterfly.. Maybe not pretty, more like a floating butterfly. Been told that it’s addictive and I see why. I’ve smoked pot before but it doesn’t really do much for me besides make me loopy. With a cigarette, I’m just mild. I’ve never had a poison before, but I think I might just have found myself one. I’ll actually keep you posted on how smoking is going for me. I’ve not had something excite me in a long while and this does.

I truly applaud anyone who can maintain even just a fraction of themselves when battling depression. Just watched this video of a lady on her YouTube channel talking about how it’s been tough on her recently and she’s been feeling like she’s uncertain of who she is anymore. I gotta give it to her though, she looks so put together & preppy, at least from my frontal view of her… But even on a general note, it’s mad impressive how anyone who’s self aware of their depression could have the ability to maintain themselves with acts as simple as having their hair done or having make up on & dressing up. As for other cases, like myself, I can hardly gather myself enough to take a shower on most days, let alone worry about my hair. I’ve not looked ‘picture perfect’ for myself or anyone else for about four months now. I’m what you’d call a slob and honestly, I’ve got no motivation to change that. I think it’s enough that I get to have to live through each day only to have it repeat itself on the very next day. That’s all the motivation I got, at least for now it’s all the motivation I need.I’d take breaking down & crumbling over whatever it is I’m feeling right now. Maybe finally breaking would force out my recovery process . I’d take breaking down over this void feeling inside me. I can feel every little inch of me die a little each day. The unsettling feeling in my gut that just won’t let me live enough to have the will to fight. I’m not entirely sure what I’m fighting for anymore. That’s just the battle, fighting against myself over a person I’m no longer sure I recognize anymore.But maybe there’s hope.. Even though I may not fully see it now, I’ll fight to feel it. I’ve been off therapy for a month now cause I traveled home. I know I need to get back on the therapy wagon therefore I called my therapist earlier today and she gave me the small glimmer of hope I’m feeling right now. I suppose her reassurance that she’s still with me through this was well needed and I’m grateful for it. I’ve not felt reassured over anything for a while now therefore I relish the new found feeling. I wish I had the right words to explain to anyone how hard it is to see hope when all there is around you is darkness. I envy those who’ve gone through depression & mental struggles and have stood up to say they beat it. I can only assume it took effort to get to such a position. I compromise myself a lot when it comes to having any kind of hope over anything in my life. Truth be told, I beat myself down more than any depression does.I’m a compilation of zero to no self esteem which when I think about, has been me for all my life. I don’t know what it’d be like to stare at myself in the mirror & truly appreciate the reflection staring back at me. I have always subconsciously been aware that my effort to stand out to anyone or even to myself has been on a bare minimum. I’ve always been okay being at the back & hidden from the world cause it’s always felt safer for me. I’ve always been behind this wall where letting anyone in has always been close to impossible. It’s not until recently that I got to learn that I shouldn’t be comfortable being in the back hiding. My therapist brought it to my attention that there could be a lot more of myself that I haven’t given the chance to exist. A lot more that could mean better & greater than all I have ever been and known. Maybe despite everything, I still have a shot at more than just being alive.

I’ll try keep this as short as I can cause honestly, I don’t know where I’m going with this…I just know that I’m in the middle of chaos that I need to find a way or a means out of. When I feel like I’ve probably felt enough in conjunction to how low my mental struggles can take me, I’m reminded that I’m falling into a bottomless pit. Honestly, I’m at a war and I can’t ascertain to whether I’m winning or losing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it always feels like I’m drowning but the difference this time round is that something keeps pushing me further down into the water ; I’m suffocating on the chaos that’s raging in me. I’m battling as it is to simply put to words how much turmoil I’m feeling but I feel like the harder I try to emerge out of it, the harder it is getting for me to breathe…like I’m having a panic attack but nobody else can see it cause it’s behind my eyes. Even as I write this, my breathing is laboured & I honestly just wish I could scream out the turmoil. The scariest thing out of all of this, I don’t know why I’m drowning…Tonight I’d have stopped the chaos, even if it’s just for a little while. I wanted to, I had every intention to. Sadly, in the only way I know how. Depression for me is taking an entirely new height..one I’m not sure I’ve been to before. One that’s paralyzing and crippling; I don’t know how to calm the hell that is coursing through me. I feel psychotic cause the world around seems entirely oblivious to the war that’s waging in my mind. I’m a breathing shell of the person I’m meant to be. I wanted to hurt myself, it was the plan a few minutes ago but somewhere along the line, I’m convinced it truly won’t make a difference. I no longer seek pity or remorse over the fact that I cope the way I do. Self harm keeps me more alive than I can attest to. It may be just another slash to my wrist or another scar to the collection but it’s sadly how chaos has me surviving. I don’t want to die but my spirit might not be strong enough to pull through this battle. It’s petrifying to think that there just might not be a way out of this. If I could choose death tonight, it would be outta of the utter helplessness that is coursing through me at this very moment. The feeling of having no hope whatsoever is like a blanket wrapped tightly around me to the point of slowly suffocating every bit of air inside me. I want to pick myself up from this shackles tied around my mind, I just truly don’t know if I’m strong enough to break free. Where would I even start? My spirit feels a lot like its been trampled over, fully decimated. I’ve got no hope & will left in me. The light in me is slowly dwindling. Your probably wondering why can’t I ask for help. It’s hard to see hope from others when it’s pretty non existent in yourself. Not to sound ungrateful but I don’t believe there’s much anyone could do for me anymore. At least not until I find strong enough will to help me back up & help myself fight for my better state of mind.

I’ve racked my mind of where I can say this without the fear of judgement, pity or any consolation.. I honestly don’t need or want anything of that right now. Not when I’m so deep in my depression. I’m not sure if I should be alarmed that I’m finally thinking of death and just throwing in the towel. Earlier I shamed myself over how I can’t even put a deep enough insition on myself… now, I’ve rid myself of that shame cause I can assure you, I have a cut that won’t be healing anytime soon. It hurt easier to see the blood trickle down my wrist than having to feel the ache inside my chest and the sorrow that only I seem to understand.

This isn’t a post or an entry. No, I just needed to let it out. This isn’t a cry for help, no…I’m too far gone to be worth help. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. It’s safe here enough for me to admit that I self harmed and it helped. That I got the relief I so desperately needed. Thought that maybe I could tweet it but my sister is on my timeline, she’ll see it and that’s absolutely the last thing I need right now. I would be scared that she’ll see this post but she quit reading my blog when it got to heavy for her to read of her baby sister’s troubles. I don’t blame her, I’m glad she doesn’t have to see the damage I’ve become.

..and lastly, I sit in bed in the dark, all I wish I had right now was if my demon could just for tonight, hold me. Just that…wrap it’s arms around me cause it’s all I’m assured that knows how I feel. I’m tired and just want to be held. I hope I’m not asking for too much.

I don’t struggle everyday or every waking moment of my life. I’m not always writhing in mental agony ; I’m not always sad & depressed. This facts should be a good thing, it should be something I’m proud of…so then why am I not? Why does it scare me instead that I have moments where I’m who I should be, a normal girl? It’s profound in my mind that I should be alarmed over the fact that I’m not constantly broken. Do I know why? I wish I could say I don’t have an idea but I do. I wish it wasn’t because of the fact that my fucked up mind can’t seem to even be good enough to be constant at being ill. I’m the definition of a fuck up…at least my mind is.

I just read through a post on instagram of a girl I recall following cause she and I had something in common. Cut marks. Just saying it gives me shivers . I hate seeing them and I get angry when I do. On anyone. They are not pretty & they are shameful…but despite all that, I can’t seem to not seek solace through it. To be honest, I no longer know why I do it. Some part me is sure I’m narcissistic towards myself. I’d rather be in the shadows of my pain than allow myself to think I can get better ; that I can do better… The girl in the post looks like she’s doing better, a whole lot better than I am. I hate that she can expose her marks which are a whole lot more than my tinnie tiny scars …i can’t even seem to make a substantial insition on myself. I can’t say exactly why it upsets me but it does. Maybe I’m just not ready to go into the dark part of my mind that has an answer to that.

Right in this very moment, I feel tormented. I feel wrecked… In this moment, I could care less if the dishes were pilled up in the sink. The ‘ocd’ I feel is what keeps me a float. I relish on the little control it gives me . Whether it’s in making sure there aren’t dishes in the sink or that the house is spotless or that everything is in its rightful place. I could care less right now about all that. All I feel is this hollow sinking feeling inside that’s itching in my mind.

I was fine approximately sixteen minutes ago. I was a float on my little boat of normalcy but I’m now not and it’s all cause I saw that post. The girl from the instagram post looks like she’s at a consensus with herself…or maybe not. Maybe her struggle allows her to have a smile on her face while showing her scars. It seems impossible ,at least from my eyes it does. Guess that’s what it feels like to feel the shift of a trigger .

PS. I don’t feel like I fully have expressed myself. I feel like I could erase this post and every little feel in me. This caption feels better of an explanation of what I am trying to relay to you. Whoever you are.

I mourn a lot, or maybe I should say I’m always mourning. I don’t mean the bitching kind… No.. I mean the kind where I’m a wreck & constantly tearing myself into wretched pieces… I’ve grown to revel in the pain it gives me. The self pity and the constant swirl of heartwretching emotion is the most I ever get to feel. So in some sense, I’m grateful.I wouldn’t call it normal. Not at all. I hate the thought that it would be normal for everyone else. It’s my specialty ; my light, the one thing I’m honestly very protective of. It’s my defining factor. Makes me my own special little girl. I’m stuck in the realms of a fourteen year old & an incredibly fucked up twenty-one year old…and maybe I’m okay with it. Being stuck that is. Or maybe I’m not okay with it & I’m just sick. I really can’t tell anymore.Do you know why I mourn? It keeps those I love with me, even despite the fact that I can no longer be with them. It’s a lot like when one misses a friend or a lover who isn’t there at that particular moment. I just like missing my loved ones with the surrounding pain their absence gives me. I like to completely drown in & feel it cause it’s all I feel I have of them. Maybe a lot of people feel the same but I honestly rather not know if that’s the case. I’m selfish when it comes to letting go. Why the fuck would I wanna let go? I’ve lived torn apart since I can remember, why would I wanna let go of all that I’ve known…‘ love, time, death… Let’s begin now… …’ I’m still very much a fourteen year old little girl who’s definition of pain no longer means struggling for air, no, she had the air knocked right out of her lungs & her heart slowly twisted out from its cage. Let’s not forget, I’m still very much the twenty one year old girl as well, the one who misses having a best friend to talk to. Still the very same girl yearning to have a fairy tale romance to sorta neutralise things in her life. Yeah ,still pretty much all that. But I’ll always be mourning, forever probably. Maybe, I’ll just learn to not show it out so often.P. S I don’t write this for any sense of pity. On the contrary, that’s the least of my intentions.

Can one have an actual person as an alter ego? Think about that as I think about where I’m headed with is. I was just scrolling through the instagram handle of a girl who if I’d have the chance, I’d choose to be my alter ego. I won’t go into details of what her name is, but I will let you in on possibly why she’d fit the role.

It’s hard to be different and not truly have an understanding of what kind of different you are. It’s a complex concept. I never want to be ‘different ‘…this being the kind where everyone believes they have that outstanding aspect of themselves that makes them ‘cooler or unique ‘…This isn’t a matter of me thinking that I’m better than everyone else, no, I’m just tired of regarding myself as anyone else who believes they are ‘different ‘.

I had an okay childhood ,at least long enough for the universe to decide I didn’t need to be a child anymore. Mmmh, well, you know how that goes…and anyway, childhood is overrated, or so the universe thought, at least in my case though. I can see where the damage comes in, where I developed my significant ‘difference’ by me not being at all understanding towards the concept of death & therefore choosing to live in the sorrowful excuse I call my life. Now, all I find pleasure in is in trying to gauge how sad I can be in a day & how long I can hold on to it. Sadness doesn’t have to necessarily take me to the grave, despite my insistent need to feel it constantly as a part of myself. That’s how I chose what kind of different I wanted be.

I shouldn’t fancy having a cigar between my lips right now, but I do. At least my mind caught up early on getting ink, though I probably should have a lot more ‘tough’ rather than cute canvas on my skin. You know, I gotta match the personality. Maybe get high everyday, though that’s a little bit cliché since everyone’s doing it. It’s part of the ‘different’ I’d rather not be a part of. Alcohol too. It’s just not my kind of style…My alter ego seems to have a couple of those ‘not my kind of different’ characteristics but I don’t blame her for it. We all gotta be cliché at some point. Maybe what I want to pick from her is her ability to make sadness beautiful & accepted. Her lyrical genius is one that’s to drown in. So you know, maybe even I have a little cliché in me, I’m human after all.

After all this time, I cannot pin point of everything that possibly sets my heart on fire. I’m certain though that it should be something that has my heart racing & my adrenaline pumping. At least that’s what I believe I feel when I’m in that head space where I’m peacefully chaotic and excited over an overwhelming feeling. We all have that something that tips you over ;that has you feeling euphoric.

Music sets my heart on fire.. Cliche’ really but I’ve gotta be normal in some form, right?? So yeah… When you get that jam that hits your soul to the root and it just sorta drowns you in it & virtually brings you into a different mental dimension where it’s just you & the lyrics of the song & the rhythm that just makes you feel like you’re floating… We all probably have geners of music we all feel we relate to and that hits different from the rest. Could be rock, indie music, jazz, opera, hip-hop, soul, country …I for sure can drown in country music & aesthetic soul music.. the latter being where I truly feel like I’m in my truest form of nature. Technically, for those who can’t necessarily pin point what kind of music it is I’m rambling about is in lame man’s language, depressing music. Music that mellows one out and has one completely feeling chill & melancholic. Yes, it’s sad but I can’t help myself. 😅

Not to delve further into any the ‘depressive shit’ in my life ..I know I never talk about my canvas often but I love the feeling or in this case, the high I get from getting new ink. It’s euphoric for me to go through the entire process of feeling it skim through my skin and form a beautiful artistic reminder of something significant to me. But for this year, I chose to take a time off on getting anymore ink, for more or less personal reasons…as I said before, there’s not much that I can say truly sets my soul on fire but I’ve come to learn that it doesn’t have to necessarily be common or good. I’ve spoken before about my affiliation to pain and I know it hardly makes sense to anyone. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s meant to make sense but it sorta does for me. I don’t wanna have to delve into my reasons for why pain doesn’t always have to be wrong. I’ve survived through it, I believe it’s been a part of me long enough for me to say it’s not easy to detach from. It puts me at a crossroads where it’s not easy to feel. It’s heavy, It weighs on you. Then there’s a similar though different part of me that just is drawn to it. It’s a hard concept to wrap around in one’s mind of how anyone would be drawn to it.

Looking at my past now, I understand in my own twisted way why in it’s own sense it’s appealing and such a drowning feeling. This at all isn’t meant to glorify self harm in any shape or form. That is an entirely different spectrum of pain that isn’t pretty & holds no pride at all….Do I wish I didn’t feel this drawn to it, not really. You can call a consolation that those nitty-gritty aspects of myself are what have built the character & personality I have. It may not be conventional or the norm but as the saying goes, normal sucks.

Been a while.. I wish I could say I have something valid or an intense rant to go on about but honestly, just too many feels are swirling in my mind right now. I feel like I’ve just been heavy the last month and it just is slowly draining me & leaving me without much to offer anyone or myself in the least. Ever just wanted that deep exhale ?… that’s pretty much what I need right now or currently… I’ve lost trust this last month, I’ve lost hope, I’ve lost focus, I’ve lost strength and will …i feel like I’m in that space of mind where I’ve given so much, I’m an empty vessel.My depression is lurking and its dark looming presence doesn’t feel so far away….but when is it ever. I call bullshit that I’m gonna try beat the damn thing cause maybe it just might be what I need right now for me to just shut down & reboot…. I hate having expectations cause I get disappointed every other time when I hope that they are gonna be fulfilled but are not. Having relationships in life can do that to a person. So yeah, I welcome the darkness cause I need the walls back. I need in my cage to silence the ever noisy world that is out to fix me to fit the picture perfect human. Maybe I just don’t wanna be fixed…at least not just yet. Greatest mystery should be whether there’s a sense of Stockholm syndrome for patients who cling to their depression.Everything this past month has felt like a trigger for me. I’ve nearly tipped over cause of the sadness & gloom that’s been in the air and maybe that’s what I need to stop feeling scared of, tipping over to my dark sea. At least if I drown, I get the still & calm I’ve been yearning for. It’s probably gonna be a bloody mess but sometimes it’s just the price I gotta pay for the silence.“I try and I try but I’m too sad to cry. I’m not suicidal, sometimes the lines just get all blurry. Yesterday I tried to pray, I just didn’t know what to say. I don’t like to talk, just rather stay in my bed . Lied to my doctor, she knows I was faking, gave me some pills but I’m too scared to take them, I try and I try but I’m too sad to cry. ” Sasha Sloan