“Guilt reflects and then leaves the rest to me. It started with a flash of light. A fist’s grip was loosened just a bit. There’s a constant slip out of the positive. Grace and hope I’m sure are on the way. It ended with a twist of fate. Hearts are breaking just a bit. So you killed more precious lives then you had let live. All the fear and all the cares of the world never forced themselves into my arms. It was your fear that helped me. Your fear that got me to move. Straight from your heart into their sight. For shame on you. Who cares about me anyway? It’d mean so much if you’d just save me. Save me.”
“No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.”
— Haruki Murakami
“When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep, when I was supposed to speak, I was silent, when a pleasure offered itself to me, I avoided it. My hunger, my thirst, my loneliness and boredom and fear were all weapons aimed at my enemy, the world. They didn’t matter a whit to the world, of course, and they tormented me, but I got a gruesome satisfaction from my sufferings. They proved my existence.”
Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen
I feel as though I’m drowning. I always feel as though I’m drowning. I’ve been trying to do more of what I love. I’ve been acting and doing photography. It has been serving as distraction more than anything else. I can’t make myself happy anymore. I’m not sure I was ever really able to make myself happy, actually. It was more that I could use other things to make me happy. I drink to feel happy. I smoke to ease my anxiety, stress, nerves. I once felt happy by luring in men, receiving attention, having sex and convincing myself it was love. I’ve just always wanted so desperately to feel loved. I know there are those who love me. I have friends who love me. It is just so hard to believe that people love me. I feel so worthless all the time. Nothing fills this void. I just don’t know what to do to with this gaping hole in my chest. My Mother doesn’t love me or can’t love me or can’t love anyone. She rarely speaks to me and when she does her words slice into me. She has broken me in such a way, I don’t know how to put myself together. I feel as though I am a waste of life. Would that I could take my time and give it to someone who deserves it, someone who wouldn’t waste it suffering, drowning. I can’t disappear as I once could. I was so angry for so very long and I got comfortable there. I hid in my anger. Now that I’ve let it go I don’t know what to do. I just feel sad all the time. I don’t feel like moving or waking up or doing anything. I just want to live and die in my bed. I don’t want to put on clothing or brush my teeth or look at myself in the mirror. I don’t want to go outside. I don’t want to see people. On the best of days, I still have thoughts of ending it all. I imagine what it would be like to drive my car off the bridge. I can so clearly see my car going over the edge, crashing into the ocean, teetering for a moment, then sinking beneath the surface. Water begins rushing into the car, the pressure against the doors too much to open them, windows won’t roll down. Would I be terrified, sobbing, regretting my decision, or would I accept my death? When my Mother tried to kill me, I fought back. She sat on top of me, pinning me to the floor. I screamed. I clawed and scratched until she’d pinned my arms down as well. I was trapped. I couldn’t move. Her weight on me was too much. I remember the floor, hard and cold, the way my head and shoulders ached from being slammed against the tile. She pressed her shin hard against my throat. I choked out the words “can’t breathe”, upon which she laughed and said, “Good. Die bitch.” I continued to struggle, trying to free myself. There came a moment, when I couldn’t fight anymore. I was so dizzy. I was blacking out. In that moment I knew I was going to die. I lay there. I accepted my fate. When my Father suddenly burst in and pulled her off of me, I rolled upon my side choking in the air. My eyes readjusted to the scene as I watched her lunge back towards me and saw my Father grabbing her from behind, forcing her into a chokehold to keep her off of me. I just don’t understand. I can’t understand. The logical part of me understands that she is mentally unstable and needs to be hospitalized. The rest of me just can’t square with the fact that she actually tried to kill me. She pinned me down, sat upon my chest, leg against my windpipe, and as I struggled to breathe she told me to die. My head understands that she has issues, but my heart can’t understand what could move a Mother to want to kill her child. I’m not enough. I’m never enough. No matter what I do I’m crushed by the weight of her disapproval. She can’t love me. It hurts. It all hurts. I have flashbacks everyday. Every goddamned day I walk down the stairs into my kitchen where it happened. Everyday I walk down there and I see and feel everything I felt then. I walk into the big house and I have flashbacks from childhood. Every corner of this place is haunted by memories. My head hurts and my heart hurts and I just want to die. I just want to set the place on fire and watch it burn. I want to burn with it. I am broken. I need to be hospitalized as a result of what has been done to me. I want to be positive and happy again. I want to be sunny. I need to get help.