The moment we think we are fine, we get ourselves in a situation where we realize that we really aren’t. We end up in bathrooms. Cutting. Crying. Just sitting there hoping the panic goes by. But it won’t. Your body screams. Tickling. Twitching. Heat racing through your veins. But the pain doesn’t stop.
How does it feel when your heart breaks? How does it feel when you reached the end of the road and you know that it’s all over? Is it cold? Does it not tear you apart anymore? Because if it did you were still trying to fight. It’s when you have lost all hope. When you have given up the fight… that is when being shattered to pieces is peaceful. Because you have stopped trying to put yourself together. Do we need to give up to find peace?
Why do all the attempts to get better fail? And why is it so frustrating? Frustrating enough that all I want to do is declare my hate for everything and break into pieces. Irreversibly. Why do I feel like giving up? Maybe because I have always kept saying that I was about to get better. And I believed it. But it was never true. This is not how I imagined to be. Why does the cold not end? It should have been over a week ago. It should have. Maybe it will never. And I am starting to loose my strength. I am loosing my will to fight.
I once trusted that I could become better. That trust hast faded into a hope. And that hope is so faint now. I lost the will to hope. And when that happened… I turned my back at everyone. Because I do not want to hurt anyone. My pain shall not hurt those I love. And still. Those I love will tell me that it is not true. Then why does it feel like it? Pushing you away hurts. But putting you through my pain -my pain that I am not even able to name- hurts just as much. How can I trust that you will be able to handle it, when I am not able to deal with it? How can you still hope, when I am giving up? Why can you not see that it’s almost over. That there is nothing left to say. Nothing left to do. Just waiting until the fall ends and I hit the ground.
I am probably exaggerating. As always. I am probably just absolutely normal. Just going through some emotionally intense times. Am I not? How am I different from anybody else? The answer is: I am not. What I feel. What I experience… happens to everyone at some point. I do not know how other people deal with this. How other people can survive this. But I don’t feel like I can. That is probably the thing that makes me different: I am not strong enough to go through this. Others are.
Well… I even think giving up needs strength. I do not think, that I have that strength. Not yet. I am still trying. I guess… If I wasn’t I would not be writing this. But I am at the point where I look at the blade and think:
“You do not have to do this.”
“I know, but I want to.”
I am supposed to not hate myself for the darkness inside me. And you know… I don’t. Because I feel nothing. But pain. I am so good at covering it. I guess everyone with a mental disorder is. We smile and laugh to calm others down. To make them believe that we are fine. But it is just another lie. A lie that we tell because if we don’t we are just going to make ourselves and those we love more miserable? How is accepting the cutting and giving in different? Maybe I will find an answer to that question. At some point. For now: I am trying to not fall any deeper.