Save My Soul.

Trigger Warning.

‘’How do I begin to set out to the world this painful reality that even I aren’t sure I have fully acknowledged? Most nights, I am uncertain of whether I have the reality of a tomorrow. I can’t seem to decide if seeing the night through is my main goal or whether I am just being dramatic over my emotions. There is this unbearable need inside my head that tells me that nothing is right, that nothing I feel or do can or will make anything right.

For the past two weeks or so I have been fighting the reality of the fact that I have been feeling suicidal. It has no longer just been fleeting thoughts anymore but solid assurances that I no longer can decide on whether life is bearable enough to be lived. I have thought through it so many times, I have questioned myself on whether it is real in both my heart and my head. It physically aches inside me whenever I think that I could finally be ready to let everything go. It is a very unbearable burden to carry because I have found no means or way to tell this to anyone. I am convinced that either no one will believe me or they probably won’t know what to do.

How do I begin to explain this to anyone when I myself haven’t entirely come to terms with this frightening realization? How do I put this into words to anyone else when all I truly feel is shame over even feeling like this? I say this with absolute resolute, the only thing that I am certain about in the midst of all the turmoil going on inside my head is that I have absolutely no idea what to do or where to start dealing with these feelings or these thoughts of suicide. It scares me not knowing how or where to start. So yeah, that is right where I am.’’

The above text was written by a very desperate, sad, despaired and most especially depressed girl. I can’t say with certainty that any of those damning feelings are gone yet, or better yet, I do know where they are. They are retreating to the back parts of my mind now that it feels a lot like I have a bit of amour against them. When I read those words above, I remotely can’t entirely recognize the girl who wrote them. She looks and feels a lot like a hollow shell and it is terrifying to think that at any one point I was this girl, I am this girl. The emotions feel like a vague memory, it has the vagueness of a sketchy dream that only holds bits and pieces of what is to be recalled of it. I wish all the memories of that pain could be erased but some of it is marred on my arms as-a-result of trying to drain it out. The pain is stuck deep inside, deeper inside than the mere blood in my veins. The scars in my hand are just a reminder of a very short-lived relief that didn’t ever quite feel like relief at all.

There is a very stark difference between being alone and being lonely. My depression is always certain to make sure I feel the best of both worlds, at least in regard to those two aspects of isolation. The most singular of the two feelings is when your entire being is encased in a fog of loneliness. No sense of reassurance would convince you otherwise of the fact that you are absolutely alone and beyond lonely. This time around, it dawned on me that I wasn’t intentionally choosing to be lonely apart from the intentional choice I made to be alone. It took all the energy I had in me to have any conversation I might have kept up with during this time. I can say with certainty that I have not spoken to the few people in my life to whom on occasion have seemed to retain some parts of me as their friend.  The looming darkness is all that encases you, it is all I could think about. I was entirely convinced that nobody in my world would find a solution enough to save me from the dark pit I was in. I felt nothing beyond the scariest darkness known to my mind.

I feel like it’s important I make this fact clearer, depression is not just a bit of sadness. It is a lot more than even I can express. It is for sure something I still don’t think I have the full grasp over in regard to how vast of a feeling, an emotion, a concept, a thought, a sensation, an enlightening and a whole lot more. Depression is also quite invisible. It never is something graspable to the naked eye. For me, it is very suffocating. My mind never feels like it has any space to breathe, it feels like the only space I can afford to think is in remote gasps of air. It feels like it would resemble a lot of what I think it feels like to drown. The panic, anguish, despair and the complete lack of hope for rescue sounds a lot like how my mind is right now. Sally Brampton, the author of the memoir Shoot the damn Dog wrote in a very precise manner what it is like to experience the depravities of the mental fuck that is depression. She describes its most corrosive aspect as despair and catastrophic. She continues to elaborate on how impenetrable and unendurable it is.

I have experienced suicidal ideation before but never to its full potential as it was this time around. I knew I was deep in the gutter, submerged under when I couldn’t quit thinking of just how peaceful and pain numbing dying would feel like. When the thought became a permanent fixture in my mind, I knew there was no way around this. I didn’t want to be alive anymore. That awareness became the dawn of a new twisted kind of sorrow. I recall on some nights crying so deeply and feeling the pain and anguish so physically from knowing that I was lost in myself. I was lost in my hopelessness and my mind had resided itself to no longer living but to completely quit existing. To a degree, I thought if I hurt myself enough, it would ease that ache even just a little bit, enough to satiate it. Dull it down. It didn’t quite do it. It led me to commit my first suicide attempt. I remember the night vaguely but I recall the intent behind the pain I felt that night. I recall the finality to my thoughts when I placed the razor to my vein. I remember the soaked tears in my sheets from my wet face. It was a pain I can only describe as purely indescribable. 23rd of October,2021 I decided I didn’t want to live anymore, at least not in the state of mind that I was in.

I can’t say with absolute resolute that I don’t want to not live anymore. Am alive now, still in despair but alive. I’m on antidepressants currently so it is all I can hope that along the way, I find it easier to want to stay alive. A lot is still yet to be done and I can’t say for certain when any of it will be done. I still have struggles that play a major role in making it harder for me to fully get the help I need so it is all I can do but trying live a minute at a time. It has taken me nearly a month to write this and I’m okay with that. Writing and reading for me take quite the hit in periods of my depression so to an extent, I am proud I got to be candid about what it has and is still like for me to live with this unbearable monster that lives inside of my head. 

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.

Some version of me + My Anxiety

Disclaimer; This is a very anxiety-ridden post so I hope you can bear with me.

What my anxiety told me today…

  1. My blog update (this very same one that I am writing now) will not make any absolute sense to anyone who will come across it, which begs the question of why am I even trying to write it to begin with. It will probably be a jumbled mess of my thoughts. No one should be subjected to reading my not so coherent thoughts.
  • Everything I will probably write here on this precise post will make zero sense to anyone. It probably is and will be an exaggeration of my said anxiety and it does not need to be highlighted at all.
  • I am incapable of writing anything substantially true and intelligent about what it feels like to live life with anxiety. I am never too conscious of it anyway, it probably is just another fabrication of my mind. Get over yourself Mercy, you can’t get any less pathetic than this.
  • I am an imposter at my own experience in anxiety which technically means that I probably don’t have anxiety at all. Nothing about my life can legitimize that I do actually have anxiety so why don’t I merely stop trying to convince the world that I do have it just so I can cover up being a weak human being.
  • Nobody likes my blog. Everyone probably thinks of it as quite mediocre and cliché. So what, that you experience a degree of sadness more often than not and that you are an attention seeking bitch which is probably why you cut yourself and have zero concept of selflove. That doesn’t make you anymore depressed than the rest of the world. The world truly doesn’t care much about what you write. They definitely won’t care about the pity party you are having with yourself right now by writing this.
  • I have no place in this world for me and my anxiety. (p.s I genuinely do believe this.)

My anxiety reared its ugly head out today. Maybe it was due to the fact that it was a lot more at the forefront of my thoughts today than it is on other days. Late last night before bed, my sister and I were having an honest conversation about why it is life feels very hopeless currently, especially for me to be precise. It is through that conversation that I was able to reveal to both myself and her just how immensely anxious I am over what is supposed to be the next phase of my life. The revelation of just how much anxiety I have for this next phase of life was both liberating to know as well as scary as hell. Later after having that conversation, I went to bed with quite a lot on my mind. Now that I knew why it was taking me so long to make any resemblance of progress in life, it left me questioning how exactly am I supposed to get past the crippling anxiety that I have.

Coming into today, I knew that I wanted to write concerning every little thought that was skimming through my mind about what it is like to have anxiety always as a voice second to that of your conscious thoughts. I didn’t know how I was going to be elaborate enough to give a sense of clear understanding and depiction of what it is like to go through the motions with anxiety wrapped around you like a second skin. Just thinking about how I wanted to project my anxiety in words, gave me major anxiety. The anxiety I got earlier just thinking about what I was going to write about was what prompted me to start this blog the way I did. I would begin by depicting exactly what it is like to have anxiety have you second guess every little bit of everything that you do. I was and still very much are conscious of my anxiety now even as I write this. My anxiety has me immensely worried that I’ll come out looking like a fraud or an imposter who’s just full of excuses over why she hasn’t made any kind of progress in her life since finishing school. I tried writing down prompts as a result of my anxiety so I wouldn’t keep repeating myself but now as I am trying to write this using them, I am afraid that they don’t seem to be making much sense to me now. That statement alone is a very big depiction of just how prominent anxiety is for me.

I have alluded in previous blogs just how weird of a child I was. As I have grown over the years, a lot of those weird quacks that I didn’t quite understand why I had them now make a lot of sense because they were merely just anxieties I had. Today, most of them would fall under what most would perceive as just personality traits and I too think that to an extent, they have morphed deeper into my personality than I care to admit. I not too long ago wrote about how bad of a perfectionist I am and maybe I didn’t dig deeper on why is the case but I understand now that it actually has a lot to do with my anxiety. For me, having everything happen in a precise and specific way allows me to gain control of the outcome. At the back of my mind, anxiety is the voice that requires me to feed on that sense of control. I have tried to never find out what the consequences will be if things don’t happen in perfect order but I am probably guessing that the world doesn’t collapse and neither does my life. Anxiety makes you too scared to find out that nothing probably does happen.

In the case of my not so foreseeable future, anxiety has taken away every sense of hope I have that adulting is not some big bad wolf that intends to gobble me up and spit me out like cud. It was a long time coming but for the past couple of months, I have been evading the subject of what’s next for me now that school is done. I have told myself and those around me of just how unprepared I am for working or looking for a job at that. Most people’s responses to my uncertainty of choice are that I would eventually have to start somewhere, regardless of whatever. As long as the rest of the world has gone down the same road into adulting, I don’t have much of a choice in it either. Revisiting this conversation with my sister was able to give me insight and perspective of just how much my anxiety has the reign over this. I probably did not take time to really go into the depths of why I was so resistant to the idea of working and of not feeling qualified enough to work in my field of expertise. Feeling anxious can do that to someone; Blind you from the fact that it is no ordinary fear but in hindsight, it is genuinely crippling anxiety that you’re feeling.

Now that I am aware of just how much anxiety has a hold on me right now, I do not know how to work my way around it. I still very much are terrified of looking for work and starting that work. I feel quite amateurish in the career I chose and I don’t think there is much I can do about that feeling, not when it will probably take me years of more studying in school for me to trust in my expertise. On previous occasions, I have had a little control over my anxiety through smoking and truthfully speaking, I can’t seem to even stand the scent of an unlit cigarette, let alone smoke it. I thought before that if I replaced self-harm with smoking, it would give me a better hold on my anxiety levels but I am aware that it merely turns into a rabbit hole that is never quite easy to get out of. I have been clean for a couple of months now, I think it’s safe to say I am trying to keep it that way.

It is of great importance that I try and get a hold of this crippling anxiety that I have over starting work and getting a job. Right now, all it has achieved is make me absolutely horrified about life and what to expect of it. My ambitions in life have become less because I am convinced that I don’t want to live long enough to keep trifling with anxiety at every step of my life. Anxiety demystifies death for me every other day. I can’t even express this to anyone because it comes off as such a cowardly notion to not want to live over the tiniest bit of change. Anyone would think that dying is too big of a reason or in their minds, too melodramatic of an excuse to do just because I am not ready to take up life by its horns… and I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking that. Anxiety is a ball of melodramatic fear over consequences that are very much unlikely to happen. I can’t tell you what exactly petrifies me so much about the whole idea of getting a job as a counsellor and having a supervisor but I can assure you, I am convinced in my mind that I am not ready for it and if on the chance that I do start off unprepared, I will be the world’s unhappiest human being which eventually might give me reason enough to jump ship from this thing we call life.

Baby Daddy to the Rescue

So tonight, something quite weird but cool I guess, happened to me.

To give a short back story to what was my intended action earlier, I’ve been trying to really dissociate the past week. I’ve been dealing with heavy burden like thoughts that I surely just didn’t & still don’t have it in me to handle let alone deal with (now when I think about it, handle and deal with, same thing). I’ve been trying to space out if I may call it so and tonight being a similar kind of night, I experienced the urge to self harm which I haven’t done in like the past two, three months or so. I quit keeping count of how long it’s been… I’m not proud that I settled myself into doing it earlier but yeah, I was going to do it and then drown out the thoughts from my head by numbing my emotions.

As I was settling myself to doing the deed, I’d just happened to put on the DVD player and I’d just put up Baby Daddy, the series about Emma, Riley, Ben, Tucker and Bonny, forgot the tall guy’s name (Ben’s brother)… As I was just about to go on ahead, I got distracted by the movie and it wasn’t even two minutes in, I was laughing, like really laughing… Forgive me if this sounds morbid but allow me to paint the picture in your lovely heads.. I was holding up a razor blade to my arm while laughing my heart out…again, my apologies for the messed up imagery. In that moment, I genuinely couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore, like for a second there I was like I need not get distracted from what I was about to do. I had everything set right there, the razor and the after care kit (yes, I have an after care routine for when I self harm, I’m not entirely a mad person, I’m just one with hygiene standards) but anyway, yeah. I had an urge and I was intent on fulfilling it… At least until, Baby Daddy, completely pulled me out of that head space. I started laughing at how absurd it felt to be holding a razor to my arm when the emotion behind it was no longer there and as ridiculous as this may sound, things got too weird and I just couldn’t anymore. So I packed my kit and stored everything back and resumed watching the show.

Two hours and season one down, here I am writing of that weirdly saving encounter I just had. A part of me is grateful that I didn’t go through with harming myself because it would probably have kicked off a habit I am still very much battling down and every so often have the reigns over. I wish I’d say it was some form of higher power that allowed me to find a disc that’s been years old in the corner of my sister’s room to which I came across as I was technically stealing her cotton wool for what was to be another scar on my arm. What are the odds, the disc was not scratched up and had a series that’s turned out to be my saving grace for the night. I’m in an entirely better mood for what it’s worth so I guess I owe this night to season one of Baby Daddy. Y’all should definitely check it out, might work some miracle for you too.

It’s been thirteen days … I don’t have a general term to express what those days have been for me… In honesty, they have been a blur ….typically my normalcy. I laughed ,I interacted, I left the house, just my typical blurry life. But, despite all that, I haven’t cut. Wish I could say I felt proud of myself but truly it doesn’t feel much of a win because it doesn’t rule out that I still thought of it. In every single day of those thirteen days ,it crossed my mind. Felt like an unfinished piece of myself I kept leaving out. Sad how much of it has become part of me now.

I wish I felt worthy enough to fight this waging war in my head but I’m not sure where to start. Everything is at a pause. Can’t seem to bring myself to sit through therapy again, just extremely exhausted to keep going on in circles with it. I’m done being cliche about this. I’m done writing about it despite it being the only possible outlet I have for my emotions & thoughts. I’m exhausted and just want to rest. I’ve lost focus on how normal it is to handle life’s challenges without needing an escape. I’ve quit trying to be strong. I don’t know what it means to be okay. I now understand what it’s like to have a cloud shadow over my head because in all honesty, I can’t focus on anything besides the voices in my head. That’s my depression, that’s my battle. I can’t keep trying to act normal when my mind keeps tipping over the edge every chance it gets.

Thirteen Days . In the last ten minutes or so, this thirteen days would have been irrelevant. They would have held no sense of importance to me. With a slit of my wrist, those thirteen days would have been twelve days of my ‘sobriety’ down the drain. I read somewhere that relapsing doesn’t mean I failed. It doesn’t mean I didn’t make steps forward. Well, if it doesn’t mean failure, what exactly does it mean? Not really expecting a response or an answer for that matter. Just cause I can afford a smile on my face, doesn’t mean anyone can see the pain & hollow fade behind my eyes . I’m not sure I want anyone to see it anyways .

I’m waiting it out. Waiting for the storm that’s coming. I can feel it. I’m not done falling. Until I can get the strength to hold on to something, anything, I’ll keep on falling, I’ll keep on sinking deeper into the depths of darkness that’s my mind. For now, I am hoping to keep up my facade till after my birthday. Not that it’s as important to me as I wish it was prior. I just don’t have it in me to feel excited about it. So until then, I’m gonna fake it. I’m gonna stand under my heated shower & pretend to wash away the waking ache to cut. For my birthday, I will pause that fall. Can’t promise I’ll make the most rational decisions after because again, the storm is coming and it’s unrelenting. It’s just a matter of time.

First of all, I wish I was a bundle of roses & was about to light up your world but sadly no.. This isn’t gonna be a pleasant surprise where I’m all dandy about life. I’m actually not sure where this is headed because I’ve lost my mojo for a while now & I understand my mind sometimes likes caging me with writers block where the words just don’t seem to come to me. So no promises this is going to be a complete entry but what the heck…

I’ve been doing a lot of wishing lately …just as I’m about to do now. How I wish I had the world’s best words to express how or where exactly my emotions lie right now. Am I still in the blink of insanity, I don’t really know. Am I still depressed or is it like a looming shadow somewhere at the depths of my mind, I don’t know either… Right now what I do know is that there’s a lot about me that I don’t really know much about yet or have any answers to.

I’m not certain of whether to call what I have been doing as soul searching or simply waiting it out.. I’ve racked Pinterest looking for a way to understand what self love is & I can tell you the most I have gotten to it is a new found intrigue in art that leans more into the aesthetic aspects of myself. So simply, that hasn’t been of much help in my new found search for the meaning of self love. Hardest shit ever. I’ve tried to understand what kindness towards myself means and it’s an entirely new concept to me besides that I need to not physically harm myself. Anything else is uncommon ground for me.

The hardest part about all this for me has been the constant battle I have had in my mind between whether this has all been a silly cry for attention or whether I am legitimately mentally unstable. I’ve gone over it in my head more times than I can count about whether my mind has been so deranged enough to convince me that I’m sad & depressed or if it’s something that’s actually chronically wrong with my brain… Now that’s been my real battle, my real struggle. Come to think of it now, in either options, my mind is still a messed up pile of shit.

Positivity …Such a bitter pill to swallow. I wish I could swallow it as a syrup because of how quick people wanna shove it down my throat. I’ve tried to warm myself to it through quotes and songs and whatnot but I’m not just there yet. How can I conjure positivity when I can’t even seems to think straight half the time. My emotions no longer have anything to do with this because I’m not sad or hurt. I’m not spending my day wallowing in bed or bawling my eyes out. I actually get to spend my day like an average normal human being, but my mind just hasn’t caught up to speed with acting normal. I’m still drawn to a darkness that I can’t explain. I’m a human paradox….welcome to my parallel universe.

Baby Steps…

Ever felt lost? I feel lost & more so foreign to myself .Not too long ago I was numb beyond my reckoning. I have had some really low lows this past weeks. It was hard enough to wanna pick myself up and now here I am slowly trying to get back on my feet again.

Over the past weeks of my “depressed funk”, I got to learn something about myself that I never really quite knew. I’m two people in one. I’ve been having a little fourteen year old girl who’s life was once very bright, warm and if I may say happy. She was sheltered, protected and so oblivious to what growing up meant. That was seven years ago…Now that little girl hasn’t grown much since. She’s still stuck somewhere inside me. I wish I had a more elaborate artistic way to explain where in the depths of my mind she’s stuck at but that’s the best I can do. Then there’s me,the soon to be twenty one year old who’s life is a shitting mess. I couldn’t begin to explain what the past seven years have been for me. I feel her within me you know…. My little girl wants out of the cage I put her in, and I wanna help her out .

I seem to want to apologize a lot whenever I’m writing because subconsciously I feel very guilty for always yapping about how much my life sucks. I am sorry ,I wish I had more rainbows and crayons to write about. This journal entry today wasn’t supposed to be another elaboration to my sob story. On the contrary ,I wanted to write more about the first step in releasing my little girl and that’s admitting that I wish things were different in my life. I wish I could shit more glitter out than spewing darkness & possible insanity. I wish I could have been more receptive to happiness earlier & been more open to having better days but I honestly just don’t know how.

They say healing is the hardest part because it means letting go & stripping yourself of the dark amour you had held onto as a shield for so long. I am scared I may never get there because whenever I think I am ready to release myself from the tightly held amour ,I always find myself still heavily shielded. I feel like I have so much to learn about myself and how to heal . I for starters would like to understand how to love myself . To be gentle with myself because I’ve hardly been the kindest to myself. I’ve a lot of forgiving to do for myself ,to myself & to others as well. My baby steps in this case is acknowledging that I need to be less toxic to myself. It’s all I have been to myself. It’s all I have felt. Self pity, shame ,lonely & sad. I embraced them and covered myself in them as my shields. I’m scared, terrified to be honest because I’m choosing to embark on a journey that seems entirely foreign for me. I wish I could promise to not give up at the start but at least I took my first step.

Keeping Score

It’s been four days… Four very lengthy days. Four days where I want to give myself a little bit of credit over… I haven’t cut myself in four days. I really had hoped I never would have to say those words out to the universe because I thought if I withheld them long enough, they would have simply just been a bad nightmare. It’s still been a nightmare, just one that’s been very real and not just in my dreams. I want to say I wish I had no recollection of it happening but I have it clear as day in my mind. The very same mind that’s been hurting and suffering in a tag of war between sanity and slipping.

One of the hardest things I have felt in the recent couple of weeks is sitting on the edge of so many queries and trying to wrap my head around why I would feel or in this case not feel the need to hurt myself. It’s been as foreign to me as it would be to anyone else. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would come to this but it’s here now and its my struggle.

I haven’t been kind to my mind because I felt like it wasn’t being kind to me. Maybe I should not have turned it into a war between myself and my mind. Maybe if I had offered myself enough love, I wouldn’t be forced to look at cut marks on my wrist every morning of every day. I have a lot of maybe’s of how I wish things could have turned out different.Writing about this right now poses such an anxiety to me. I’m doing the very thing that despite how numb I have been for the last few weeks, I have offered to feel one thing and that’s fear. Fear of how people would soon look at me different for what I have been doing to myself. Fear that I may be slowly and steadily loosing grasp of rational thoughts and putting in place my irrational actions.

Sometimes the stigma doesn’t have to come from everyone else, sometimes it comes from ourselves. I want to hate myself, I already do for what I am doing. I wish I could say I had the knowledge to switch it off but I feel like my hands are tied behind my back.

Cause I know I’m only human, don’t know how many sunsets I got left. And I don’t want to ruin, this moment by wondering what comes next. I just want to love me, like its all am living for. Hold myself close ,enjoy me more and spend a little less time Keeping Score.

The BRIDGE I crossed

I’ll try be discreet… It’s all am trying to be right now…not draw any attention to myself .Today I crossed a bridge. A bridge I never in my wildest dreams ever thought I would cross. A bridge I never thought would be in my life story .I always thought I was better than that….Ironic huh! That I would never have to feel the need to cross that bridge, but I did.

I wish I could retrace back so many steps that I took today but I can’t. It’s already done. I crossed a bridge I should never have. Not even in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be strong enough to do it but crossing it for me just proved how strongly weak I am. I didn’t fight myself from it even when I know I should have. I didn’t try to stop it, I went ahead & did it.

As I took to crossing that bridge, I lost a bit of myself with every step I made. I could feel pieces of myself detach from me and break a little bit more .I wept for each piece of me that died today on that bridge. I wept for each person who I disappointed for crossing that bridge. I most especially wept for I knew what it fully meant me crossing that bridge. Those tears were my grief for the person who kept breaking as she took steady calculated steps across. I don’t recognize that person as myself anymore.

Finally, we crossed the bridge. The me now, took time to look over at all what I had lost over the period of crossing over. I saw the pieces of me that I will never get back. I saw the once hopeful little girl who thought that despite the little dark place in her mind that whispered to her, she could overcome it . She wept for me, she too saw the pieces that died along that fateful bridge.

Now here we are. More hollow than we ever were before. I walked away from that little girl because she no longer could save herself. I am a shell of the person I was today morning. I never quite understood what sort of peace people spoke about after crossing that bridge ;it sounded absurd to me especially since its not a bed of roses. But I felt it. It was crazy how quickly calm and collected I felt. I thought I was numb before, this calmness took numbness to an entirely different level. I didn’t feel, I didn’t hear, I didn’t think. It was QUIET. So quiet in my mind, I haven’t had such an eerie feeling before that that was that calming. I now well understand the peace that came with crossing that bridge. The whispers finally shut up because they got what they wanted. Through that bridge, I made a deal with the devil in my head and there’s nothing I can do to go back from it.

Numb

“I’m sorry am at this again; I really am. I wish I knew what exactly is hurting inside but it feels a lot like a soundless cry. I am not depressed…I am not in any emotional turmoil… I’m just numb and hollow. It’s dark where I am right now. Very dark and just downright empty. How I wish I was normal & wasn’t so melodramatic but sadly this is where I am right now . It’s exhausting when nightfall comes. I no longer hear those bad voices inside my head, they are quiet now …isn’t it what I always hoped for??….then why does it feel so lonely now? Why does it feel like I preferred when they whispered to me in my sleep than now when it’s just me .I wish I could speak and say what exactly feels out of place. I wish this was just a temper tantrum and I am in search of some sort of attention.. I would smack myself out of it. Or maybe it just is… I really don’t know anymore.

I wish I had signed myself up for this because then I could sign myself right out. It wouldn’t feel this exhausting to feel this dark and cryptic….to feel like an alien just cause your mind can’t seem to cut you some slack and think like a sane person. I doubt I know complete sanity or what it remotely feels like. Sad how the world can never see how unput together I am. How fucked up I am up here and how empty it is. Quite a pity really…

I’m proud of myself though. I am not in any pain. I don’t want to hurt myself too.. at least not yet anyway. It always doesn’t have to be physically, not trying to pick myself out of this pit of darkness is enough lack of effort to be considered self harm. I don’t feel sad either. I feel nothing. I really do apologize because I wish I could sound less sad and depressing but I was hoping I could push writing this long enough for it to fade away but guess I failed at that too 😟…

Funny how numb is a feeling.. Just a feeling of hollow oblivion. I wish I was stronger. I wish I wasn’t this vulnerable to falling over the edge. I wish my mind was stronger. I wish a lot of things but look how far wishing brought me. I’m a lonely psychotic. I feel the furthest from sane and that is just sadly my truth. Maybe I never really should have been quick to count “my little wins ” …look at how that turned out…