“I can’t stop shaking, and I can’t change. I’m setting myself up with every chance at success, knowing full well I’m going to fuck it up.”

I’m not doing anything that should warrant such an extremely negative reaction from myself. I’m eating a sandwich while I finish up some work, but that last bite…it’s hard to explain, but that bite made me feel so hollow, that it was all I could do to keep myself from crying. I took that bite, and immediately dropped the sandwich and just started shaking. I couldn’t chew, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t do a damn thing. I felt so small, yet so bloated. I wanted to disappear, but wanted someone to notice me, to tell me I’d be okay. I wanted somebody to remind me that eating a sandwich is a normal thing, and it shouldn’t cause a mental breakdown. But everything causes a mental breakdown now…I haven’t gone a single day without breaking…and I’m tired…

My body is tired. My back is screaming at me to get up and do something, even if that something is jumping off a bridge. My hands and face and mouth are all dried up, unsightly, scaly things. I’m sure my reflection is haunting, or at least a consistent visitor to every sort of nightmare the human mind can concoct, but I wouldn’t know for sure, because I avoid mirrors and glass windows and still bodies of water, knowing that if I saw whatever it is I have become, I’d do anything I could to destroy that monster…I’m so tired of being the monster…for once, I wish I could just be the hero.

I’d valiantly strike any mirror with my fist and enjoy watching a kaleidoscope of my own blood run across the now serrated surface.

I’d bravely shatter any glass windows, gathering the broken pieces into a nice, sharp pile, and roll around in that bed of crystal needles in a stupid, childish attempt to cut my way through this terribly uncomfortable skin.

And I’d heroically smother any image presented by a calm waters surface, forcing it under in a wave of self-righteous rage, inflated fear, and layer upon layer of bravado to mask my doubts…I’d drowned anything shown in that waters reflection, even if it means spending the rest of my forever at the bottom of an empty Sea.

I’m not doing anything that should warrant how much I hate myself, but I’ve come to view my very existence as a crime, a blight on society. I am a monster, and the only acceptable kind of monster is a dead monster. I don’t want to be a monster, and I wish I could know what it’s like to be the hero, so really I’m just killing two birds with one stone, but in this case, those birds are just me and my reflection. I just have to take that stone, grind out a nice, sharp edge, slide that makeshift dagger across my throat, and watch as that monster in the mirror gets exactly what it deserves…and I can go out with a smile in my heart, knowing I finally did something good for the world; I finally became a hero…

“Something is only considered trash because someone comes along and labels it as trash. So when I say I’m trash, it’s not that I’m inherently nothing, but after 20 some years of experiences, I can’t define myself as anything but trash.”

There was nothing I could have done..

~Do you really believe that? That there was nothing you could have done, nothing at all?~

I just wanted to be loved, to feel what love was supposed to be, that forever and always type of love that grows stronger each day, bringing smiles and family and so much warmth…I just wanted a love like that..

~You had it, all of it, and you know you never deserved it, but you got it anyway, you lucky bastard. And now you are blaming fate, destiny, God, for the outcome? You had all the help in the world, and even still, you lost! You lost EVERYTHING!. That’s not destiny, that was YOU! ALL YOU! THAT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT, JUST.. just you..~

So I never could have held onto it, because that’s who I am, huh? I can’t feel comfortable. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin, seeing the world through my own eyes… So no matter how much the world gave me, I could never, ever, hold on… I couldn’t, I never could have…

~We’re just a pile of excuses; walking, talking human debris. No, we’re even less. We’re less than garbage, less than dirt.. The lowest of the low…We’re truly the definition of a scummy, wasted, worthless existence..~

“In the end, it ends how it began; you weren’t there, and you aren’t here, and I’m sure I’d be fine, if you just stayed..”

It’s nothing more than simple math; if you add 0 to anything, it doesn’t do a damn thing. I used to think I was a 0, that I was just nothingness floating through space, not contributing anything of value, but also not taking anything away. Over time I started to feel that I couldn’t be a 0, because my heart felt so heavy. Surely I’ve picked up a few things over the years, giving me some sort of value. I finally took the time to look back, back into my life, and it all become clear; I had picked things up, but none of those things stuck. Behind me is a trail of recyclable litter, useless garbage, and death. I took from those around me, but I didn’t put those things to good use, and ended up just throwing it all away. So I’m not a 0, I’m a negative value. I’ll rip away from others, steal the things they would willingly share, if I only would ask. I leave nothing, learn nothing, and become so much less than nothing…I am less than nothing…and I can’t imagine a scenario where I could ever make up for what I’ve taken from the world. I can’t even the score. I can’t give enough to cancel out the net loss that is my 27 years of existence. I can’t do a goddamned thing…for the world…or for me…so please, understand when I say I want to die, it’s not because I’m trying to make up for my sins, or atone for anything; I never could do those things. All I can do is fade away selfishly, using my last moments to take just a tiny bit more from this world. But that will at least minimize the damage I would do if I kept on living, and it will give me a chance to rest…so please, understand…I just want to stop being this monster…I want to stop this feeling, cancel out this knowledge I have about just how terrible I really am…I’m tired, so please…don’t hate me when I die.

“My thoughts are a ship, and I’m no sailor. But the prospect of sinking to the bottom of the sea…it doesn’t sound entirely terrible at the moment.”

You’ll find me in Belgium, on the coast of the North Sea. I’ll be swaying on the current, the salty spray of the tide running me towards the Strait of Dover. It bears my essence as it crashes, a crushing cerulean weight to turn rock into sand and sailors dreams into restless sleep. 

And somewhere in that swirl, I’m sure you’ll be there too. No matter how far I go, from shoreline to shoreline, begging refuge from coastguards and strange light towers, I never drift far enough to find an Ocean without at least an ounce of you.

I’ve taken to sleeping at the bottom of the Sea, because how could a shadow find me in that darkest of blues? It’s quite a long trip; exactly the type of long trip you expect from a one way ticket. But as the saying goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

In this curious case of a hopeless sailor, nothing ventured would be ideal. If only I could sail back, before Belgium and the sight of Dover. If only I could sail back, before the world I knew had you. If only I could sail back, never leaving the comfort of my own, familiar lighthouse.

If only I could sail back…perhaps I wouldn’t need to travel to the bottom of the Sea to find peace…

I promised you shelter, but I just realized my heart is full of holes. So maybe I was just using you to plug them up, to make me feel whole…

“You say that it hurts to be alone, but you are the one pushing aside your phone when it lights up, ignoring every invite from friends and family to go out or come over. You aren’t making an effort, so can you really say that being alone hurts?”

~It’s not being alone that hurts. I know I’m making this, a conscience decision, and it’s that feeling of giving up on me even when others haven’t that feels so Goddamned awful.~

“So it’s being self aware that causes you so much pain?”

~I can see that I’m not alone…that I’m not at rock bottom…but I feel like I should be. After all that I’ve done, and all that I haven’t, I’ve earned loneliness.~

“But being alone isn’t something you just decide for yourself. When you make that decision, you are making it both for yourself and those who want you in their lives.”

~And I want to say it’s the guilt, the unrelenting feeling of failure, that keeps me making the same, selfish decisions over and over and over…but no…that’s simply an excuse. I can say I don’t want to hurt others all I want, that it’s my desire that they all remain happy and healthy without me, but the only truth that matters is I am ignoring what they want to satisfy my own desire for punishment. And that guilt leads me further down this rabbit hole, cycling again and again and again AND AGAIN! IT NEVER ENDS, I JUST KEEP ON WANTING TO LET OTHERS DOWN, TO GIVE THEM A REASON TO HATE ME, BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, TO GIVE ME SOMETHING FRESH TO HATE ABOUT MYSELF! SO IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT MY REASONING IS! IT DOESN’T MEAN A FUCKING THING! IT DOESN’T!!!...It doesn’t matter…I’m picking self-hatred over their happiness…and nothing could be more disgusting than that…~

“…You want to hate yourself…that’s what you want? You want a reason for everything that has happened. You want meaning, because otherwise, what was it all for, right? What were all those nights spent doing laundry, desperately trying to wash off those dark red streaks for? What were all those days spent in a haze, throwing up regret only to purchase another bottle on the way home from work for? What were those nights spent sitting in the shower, fully clothed and freezing, watching as the blood tinged the water red, unable to take your eyes of that crimson river, what were those for?”

~They weren’t for anything. I already know…they weren’t for anything…if they were, then I would have found it by now.~

“That’s not the answer.”

~It’s my answer.~

“That’s not your final answer.”

~It’s the answer I came to, after using up all 3 of my lifelines, and having 2 choices in front of me, A or B. And I picked C, because I didn’t want any fucking chance to walk away…~

“But you’re still walking.”

~…~

“You’re still walking, and breathing.”

~The pills are starting to kick in, so breathing might become a bit more difficult here in a few minutes.~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living.”

~This…me…I’m not living; This isn’t fucking…You idiot, you fucking idiot…this isn’t…THIS ISN’T FUCKING ANYTHING!~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living, and screaming, and crying, and falling, and failing, and breaking, and cutting, and overdosing, and..”

~AND FUCKING NOTHING! I AM FUCKING NOTHING, NOTHING BUT A PATHETIC WASTE!!~

“…And you are still hurting, and loathing, and running, and..”

~JUST SHUT IT, SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP!~

“…And you are still here.”

~…why am I still…~

“Isn’t that really what you want? Not reasons to hate yourself, but a reason to live?”

~I don’t deserve something like..~

“Funny thing is, nobody asked you if you deserved it! Nobody asked if you wanted it, and nobody will ask you to give it back! It’s not fair, and it’s messy and difficult and maybe it’s not going to end up feeling like it was worth it at all! But YOU ARE STILL HERE!”

~It’s a joke…all of this is one big fucking joke.~

“Maybe. Maybe God hates you. Maybe God thinks this is funny. Hell, you might even be the main character in some weird, God produced sitcom, and the entirety of the Heavens are laughing at your expense. But none of that matters. At the end of the day you are still here, right here.”

~I’m only here because I’m too weak to pull the trigger.~

“And that’s still a reason.”

~Not a very good reason for living though, huh? I’m to much of a piece of shit to end it, so I just keep dragging my feet all over creation.~

“It’s not a stellar endorsement, but it’s a starting point.”

~It’s not the reason I want.~

“Meaning you don’t just want any old reason, but you want your reason to live.”

~…I’ll never find it.~

“But you’re still here, so you must not have given up completely, right?”

~I’m 99% there, at the end.~

“One out of one hundred. One out of one thousand. One out of one trillion. The odds make no difference. You still have the chance, a chance for a chance, a chance for that chance to dream.”

~…it still hurts…so much…~

“I know, I do, trust me, I know.”

~…I don’t have the energy to save myself…~

“But you have the energy to take a shower, and brush your teeth, and crawl under the covers. That sounds like a pretty good start, right?”

~It could be worse.~

“It could.”

~…will you stay with me?~

“…For a long as I can.”

~Thank you…I hate being alone…it’s so cold…~

“Just get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

~I don’t need tomorrow to come…but it will come anyway, right?~

“You’re starting to learn.”

~…please, don’t leave me…~

“…Get some sleep, okay?”

~I don’t want you to leave…please don’t make this goodbye, not again…~

“…It’s not a goodbye, just a goodnight. Goodnight Taylor…and sweet dreams…”

Every scar has a story, especially the ones that keep finding new friends.

It feels like I am leaving my body behind for something much, much smaller. I’m not a shell waiting to be cracked, but nevertheless.

I have to bust open.

I have to break out.

Well, more like break down.

Tear down.

Rip down.

I have to rip it down, every last trace of the creature I am. I’m living in a bubble, as if I wasn’t part of this world. This thing I am, it can’t be considered living. The changes people experience everyday, I just observe. I watch them all from a window seat, never even contemplating opening that window. I skim the surface, avoiding anything beyond a drop in the bucket. Yes, that’s right.

I wanted to pretend.

I wanted to act just like them.

I wanted…

~I want to have something real to want.

My only desire is to have what they all have, whatever that is. I want to laugh at the same jokes, cry at the same movies and shows, run through the rain and feel like I am getting something more than just drenched.

Is that so wrong? Is there anything wrong with that, having the desire for human desires? Isn’t that how all things start out? Humans are products of their environments; they see and copy and learn. So what I’m doing isn’t any different, right?

I’m the same, right?

I must be the same…

~I need proof.

I have to find proof.

I want to find that proof.

I want to have something, to see something that could show me, something that proved I was human, just like them. What do they have that I don’t? Eyes and ears and mouths, all so varied, so how can that be what I define as human? Nobody has the same eyes as me, or the same hair or face. Nobody is just like me in terms of what the surface shows, so how can I prove that I’m the same?

How?

How…

~I have to dig deeper.

I have to find something inside of me.

I have to peel back the layers.

I have to cut me down.

I have to cut until I reach that core.

I have to cut until I find that proof, that proof that I’m a human, just like everyone else. I have to cut until I can more than just see, but feel that proof. I need to drown in that undeniable sensation of having nothing between me and the world. I need that proof carved into me, so I can prove I’m as alive as anybody else has ever been.

I need more.

I need to dig deeper.

I need to cut deeper.

I need to cut…

I need to keep cutting…

I have to keep cutting, because it must be close, it has to be close! It has be there, right below the surface! The next one will do it, I just know it! Just one more! One more!

And one more!

And one..one more..

Just…a little more…

One…please…

~I see that I am breaking, and I found a desire in that chaos, and I see…I can see it, the way…my way…the only way I can reach that desire…my proof…so I have to keep going.

I can’t stop now.

It has to come soon, right?

It will come soon.

I know it.

~So I just need more.

More breaking.

More digging.

More cutting.

Just a little more cutting and I’ll find it…I know it…

So just…

One…

More…