Sleeping in is a luxury far removed from my reality. My bed still calls to me every morning, giving the utmost effort to hold me down. But this isn’t an act of kinship with my sheets, rather my sheets are hellbent on smothering me into nothingness. I’m laying facedown, surrounded in a sea of tumbling cotton, and every attempt from my lungs to dispel the CO2 coating my throat is pushed straight back down. In a matter of seconds, the warm air I’ve been swallowing has become a solid mass of fiery coals, cooking my flesh from the inside out. The only chance for relief would be to welcome the idea of sleep, but I know that with sleep comes dreams, and my dreams have been sifted time and time again until I was left with but a single scene. That scene also haunts me while I’m awake, but when I’m awake I can numb my feels through things like work, drugs or alcohol. In my dreams I can’t leave my own head, so it hits me full force. And it hurts. God, it hurts so fucking much. I know it’s just a dream, but it still breaks me. Every night it breaks me, and I’m forced to put myself back together in the morning. I have responsibilities, so I can’t waste any time. I know I’m not putting things back exactly where they should go. I know I’m ignoring my crumbling edges. I know nothing will get better for me if I don’t stop living like this. But this is all I know. This is the only way I know how to stand back up.
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…
“People can break into pieces, and every single one of those pieces still has enough of us to feel, enough of us to love, enough of us to break again…We may only have 1 life to live, but in that life, a person can die more than once.”
I tried to wash this all away in a rush of pills and alcohol. It was one mistake to match every other mistake I’ve ever made, and all to soon I hit the bottom of every bottle within arm’s reach. The only thing worse than hitting rock bottom, is hitting rock bottom to fast. I’m already out of options, but the drugs haven’t taken full effect. I’m still capable of thinking and feeling, and since I am already at the bottom, I have nothing left but time.
Time is the enemy here; it always has been and always will. I’m at the bottom, but time followed me down, so now all I can do is wait. And waiting is the worst. I’m just waiting for the pills to poison my blood, light a fire under my skin that demands release. I’m just waiting for the alcohol to flush away any lingering, rational thoughts, leaving me to choke on sour breath and unvoiced regrets.
Yes, it’s all a waiting game now, the only game I seem to know how to play, and the only game you never have a chance to win. Every second I’m left waiting for the high to rip away my senses, a palpable fear filters its way into the cracks of my remaining humanity. I’m trapped in this crumbling reflection, and its hell. This is the lowest level of hell. This is the boiling sulfur, fire and brimstone, pray to your God and every God for just a shred of mercy, type of hell.
Yet, through it all, time still crawls forward, and it drags my sorry ass out of that pool of fear and into an Ocean of nothingness. I blink up at the sky and wonder if I’ve gone blind, because whether my eyes are open or closed, everything looks the Goddamn same. I try to listen for something familiar, but as I strain my ears, I realize I can’t even sense a whisper from this saltwater room. I want to lift my head up, or sit up, or just wiggle a toe, but this saltwater is binding my exposed skin to the unshifting brine. I am trapped, and for a split second, the fear I’ve been swallowing swells, eclipsing my everything, and nothing exists outside of this gaping mouth of hopelessness that stands ready to swallow me whole.
But that second passes, and I’m just alone. I’m alone, without even my own thoughts for company. Nothing can reach me here, at the bottom of my upside-down Sea. Nothing can touch me, or burn me, or scare me. Nothing can choke me, or poison me, or rip me apart. Nothing can hurt me, because there’s nothing left in this world to hurt, because I made sure, I made damn sure, that I left myself nothing…
And even with nothing…I still wake up.
I know it wasn’t just a bad dream. I know that hell, that fear, that painful absence of any hope… I know they are all very real…but every time I do this, I still wake up.
I know enough about my own shitty person to know how much is too much, and I stop short of pulling the trigger every time. Every stupid time. Every single stupid, fucking chance I give myself to get out, I fucking stop short! I’m right there! I can fucking see the end RIGHT FUCKING THERE! BUT I CAN’T DO IT! I CAN’T FUCKING DO IT! I CAN’T!!!!!
…I can’t do it…I should do it…I want to do it…but I can’t do it…
And it hurts…it hurts so goddamn much…
This blog has meant the world to me. I’ve only been doing this for a few months, and it’s not very big, but just having a place to let my thoughts leak out, without having to hold back, is keeping me alive.
I started a new job on Monday, because I had a mental breakdown at my old job a month ago. I have never been a stable person, but like most people with anxiety and depression I have fought to keep it from showing. I made an extra effort at work, because I’m embarrassed by the whole thing.
But I had a bad beginning to 2018, and I got carried away one night. I took far to many sleeping pills along with far to many drinks. My neighbors found me right outside my apartment, lying face down in a pool of vomit. My arms and legs were cut to shreds, and my left arm was marbled purple and swelled to twice its normal size.
I spent 3 days in the hospital. These were workdays too, so I had to call off. I didn’t know how to explain any of this to my boss, but she’s amazing and nice, so I tried.
I broke down in tears within the first 10 seconds on the phone, and after 10 minutes of that she told me to just email her.
3 days passed, and I was released. I had a broken arm, and my stomach had been pumped so I felt like shit, and to top it all off I left scars in places I couldn’t hide. See, when I take my clothes off I look insane, just leftover lines everywhere, but I could hide most of them. Even new ones I made, they just overlapped old ones, and it was all hidden. But I couldn’t hide these not from anybody.
I couldn’t go back into work. I couldn’t. I spent 2 more days doing nothing but crying, dreading the end of the weekend and my return to work.
Monday morning came and it all sank in; I couldn’t go.
I emailed my boss, turned off all my electronic devices, and disappeared for a week. Well more like hibernated. But even that’s wrong, because I didn’t sleep.
For 1 week I didn’t set foot outside of my apartment. I never got on my phone or computer. I never left for food or anything else. I talked to no one. I never opened my blinds. I sat in the dark, taking just enough pills in timed intervals to keep me from feeling or thinking without going to far. I didn’t want to go to the hospital again.
After that week I made a return to the world, albeit through the internet. Specifically I wrote something and posted it here, to my blog. And people liked it, some commented on it. I love getting comments. Everyone here is nice, but even if the comments weren’t nice I would be okay with that. Just putting my thoughts out to someone…it really does save me.
So now I have a new job. Nothing fancy, just something to pay the bills. And I have this blog. Again, nothing fancy, but it’s somewhere I can be myself.
So thank you to everybody who reads my blog, or doesn’t read my blog, because I enjoy reading other peoples blogs even if they aren’t reading mine. The internet isn’t real life, but I only feel alive through this site. Is that sad? Bad? Pathetic? Probably all of that and more, but I don’t care.
Thank you everybody, please keep reading and writing, and if you have any suggestions for writing topics or story ideas, or critiques of my other posts, please don’t hesitate!
“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.~
~…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…”
It’s so warm here, lying next to her. We are only holding hands, but that is enough to feel her everything. When we are this close I just want her to talk, talk about anything under the Sun and beyond. She’s close enough that the words come out in a whisper, and I feel like I’m not hearing her words so much as inhaling the air she’s pushing between her lips. I never want to leave this moment, because it’s just so Goddamn perfect. We roll over and catch each other’s eyes, and she smiles at me, and I cannot understand how I ever could have lived before her, along with the crushing realization that I won’t be able to live without her…But none of that matters right now, because this is a moment, our moment, and it’s a forever that will never be replaced.
I had a dream last night, and you were in it. I was talking to you, just like we are talking right now. And I said some things. Not important things. Every day, hey how ya doin type things. I said those things, and then you were gone. I said those things without really saying anything, and then you were gone. You were gone without me even saying a word that mattered. I wasted that chance on small talk. I didn’t take the risk. You are worth the risk; this is worth the chance. My words need to be more careful; thoughtful. When I see you in my dream tonight my first words won’t be hello or hey, hi or even good evening. My first words will be words to describe how you make it hard for me to talk because I stumble over my own tongue in my rush to talk to you. My first words will entail all my joy at seeing you here, now, even if it is only just a dream. My first words will speak volumes large enough to fill a library, loud enough to be heard from across the continents, meaningful enough to move your heart and with enough conviction to make you echo them back. My first words, “I love you…”