why do I even bother to write any more?

Well it seems you all got your wish- sadly I opened my eyes this morning, meaning my heart hadn’t given up on me during the night.
I still don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like jumping off something very high but apparently there are survival rates unless you land on your head. Great news, thanks internet. Guaranteed I would be that one landing on my legs.

Today I am supposed to function normally- I think so far I am doing well. I feel numb. Thanks to my blades again. I have missed this, not being on the rollercoaster of stupid feelings. No happiness, no excitement, no pain, just blessed numbness. I think I am going mad again, but that’s where I was destined to be all along.

Suicide is on the cards still. The dark passenger wants to know how long I’m going to (their words, not mine, particularly his words today) ‘dick around’ for. I’ve told them all I need a decent time to do it, but they’re insistent. Well, it doesn’t matter what I think anyway. I’ve always known I was going to die and they knew it too- they were biding my time, letting me have my little fantasy of recovery. Now that’s over, I’m actually kind of relieved. I can just wink out of existence and the dark passenger will finally be happy.

Death to me, because I deserve it.

I tried desperately to stay awake last night, only to fall asleep faster than I had wanted. Cue nightmares. I am exhausted. I have to get up and maintain a semblance of normalcy and pretend I’m ok. I have work, my teaching little children I assist with, and I don’t want them tainted by my depression. So I grin and pretend I am fine, when I am really a wreck, a twisted burned out wreck. Something you hurl into a landfill to be forgotten forever.

J hasn’t rung in two nights. I’m scaring him away too now. It’s what I always do- find something good and poison it with my shit.

I’m going to listen to the dark passenger because they want me dead, and now so do I. I am over the hope that I will be better, because I never will be. There is no cure for PTSD, so I don’t get to find a way out of this. I will always be a horrific burden.

Time that burden ceased to be.

I’m alone at three in the morning. I haven’t rung J to let him know I am feeling awful: too much programming in the way. I’ve lied to my mother about feeling “ok” now, and that I will get up in the morning and “face the day”. I have been on an online counselling service, which wasn’t great.

I am out of options.

What can I do next? I don’t have a clue. My usual method of writing hasn’t worked. My efforts to calm myself down haven’t worked. I don’t want to wake up my flatmates, because they have enough on their plates already.

I am feeling very unsafe.

I want to do something really stupid. I want to neck a whole bottle of alcohol, or slice my arms and legs with the sharpest knife I can find, sitting in the bath, until I can’t lift the knife. I want to cry again but all my tears are gone.

I want to die again.

I don’t want to die…. because I should be here for my friends and family and for J. However, today I am not me. I am in pain. I am programmed, I am listening to my stupid fucking dark passenger, and I want to cut.

I don’t know what to do to feel better. I don’t want to relapse. I want to sleep and forget and not have nightmares or paranoia or flashbacks any more.

I am exhausted but there is no chance of me sleeping.

What if I just cut a little?

That’s cheating. I am four and a half months clean. I would break my record.

Who am I keeping it for? Me? J? My family?

Tonight I don’t know. Tonight I feel unreal.

I just want to know everything will be ok. I suppose right now it isn’t, and it never will be.

Therapy in four months? I could be worse by then, or dead or something. I feel emotionless typing that. The only thing I feel is the guilt and unease that my ex used to cause when I couldn’t contact him: that saving up of anger for the big storm.

I’m getting sick again, and I want to be how I was in America with J.

Apparently I’m not allowed that. All I am allowed is pain and death and anxiety and paranoia and hallucinations and PTSD and whatever mood disorder I have on top of that and the fucking voices and memories of abuse that go on and on and on and never let me rest.

I am sick of life like this. I just want to be better. Is that too much to ask?

 

Exhaustion

Today, I am tired. Today, I feel uneasy and lost. I feel like I’m floating in that fog, dazed and confused, and what little light there is throws up distorted reflections of my own shadow.

I’m really missing my American, too. I want an embrace from him. I wish I could be next to him, but there’s miles and miles separating us, so I have to be alone. I feel on days like this that I overestimated how long my good mood of the previous day or two would last, and now I’m limping on with just a flagging sense of willpower left.

Maybe I should try talking. Maybe I should go and do something. Maybe I should stop thinking about me and start being less selfish. Oh, that was sneaky- thanks for that, dark passenger.

I don’t think I should. I’m always complaining about the inner contents of my head. The people around me are definitely starting to get impatient. I’m supposed to be better by now, so maybe I should stop pitying myself and get the fuck on with killing myself.

Again, thanks for that, dark passenger. You really know how to make a girl feel special.

Maybe I will always have this in my head. If so, and I find out that is the case after the 9th, what is left for those who know me but more pain?

I’m really stuck today. I knew my weekend was a brief island. Back to the storm of everyday life.

I want dawn to break, or to drown if that’s not possible. Just stop throwing me ropes that break, life, please.

It’s more than a little cruel.

La jeune fille et la mort?

I’ve just watched La Jeune Homme et la Mort. It’s a ballet that lasts for eighteen minutes. Essentially, the plot goes as follows- A young man is pretty cruelly emotionally abused by his lover, who mocks and taunts him until she drives him to suicide. Death, a woman in a long white gown, comes for him, hooded and masked… and she removes the mask, revealing that she was his lover all along. She forces the dead man to wear her mask and makes him walk into the night, alone, desperately not wanting to.

 

It made me think.

 

Did he ever really have a choice? Was he always going to die?

That mask, placed so damningly over his face, was disturbing. He was dead both inside and out, and didn’t have even a face to show his torture.

 

It occurred to me that this is how I feel at my darkest moments. This exactly, with death’s brutal embrace calling me.

 

I am not going to let her in.

Breaking the habit

I have not cut in a week. My skin has healed. I found my old blade in my journal tonight and snapped it in two in a fit of “fuck-you-ness” towards the dark passenger.

I don’t want to die. I am home now, and I want to be alive to see J when he comes to visit. I am ringing the psychologist in the morning.

J said that the voices are a representation of all the bad things I have had said to me, and another friend I have been talking to recently feels the same. I know that she has just been through a very tough time herself, and I want to thank her for her help. It’s been invaluable.

I am going to draw J’s butterfly on again, and Y’s, and keep going. I am going to beat this. I will ring H tomorrow as well and try and keep going to fix my head.

I don’t want to die. Not right now.

The mall and other things.

Yesterday, we went to the mall. It’s huge- a lot lot bigger than any English shopping centre. The crowds stared and swirled. The noise was infernal. The thing that stopped me running away to cut was my sister. I was beside myself when we got to the food court because of how huge it was and how many people stared at me and my stupid fucking scars.

The voices are adamant about the 5th of September now. I have two weeks left to live.

I don’t think that if I make this, they will give me another chance. I wish I was free of this. I wish I was alive. I wish I was dead.

To everyone who has stuck by me- thank you. I’ve needed all of you, if you stopped by to read, if you commented, liked, or followed, or even if you were there for just one second viewing the title of my latest post- thank you. I couldn’t have staved off the voices for this long without you lot.

To my IM friends- thank gods for you. You have cheered me up when I’ve been past rock bottom, stuck by me when I’ve been negative, and shared hilarity and craziness with me. I love you all lots.

To my friends: I am a terrible friend for not being closer to you all. I love you so much.

To my faerie queen- darling, I never stopped loving you. I crave the touch of your hand. I miss your pretty eyes. I wish I had been less crazy when we met- maybe I could have saved you from your own demons. Sadly, mine are claiming me.

To my best friends- Jesus, I’ll miss you. I wish I wasn’t like this. I love you so so much H, and I wish I was with you. K, I will never forget you accepting that I hear voices and not being bothered. I love you too sis.

To my family- my will is in both journals. I love you more than words can describe.

Sorry to write this, but if the voices win, I need to let everyone know that I love them, and I’m sorry.