It's been awhile.  Awhile since you slipped into my slumber.  But last night you came.  And instead of choking on tears and fears it was nice.  Neutral.  Natural.  You were just a person.  A person with a tiny bit of me lodged in your heart.  I know because you wrote me a letter.  A long, incoherent jumble of prose. And I read it.  Thinking, "how lovely".  And I felt no pain.  And I shed no tears.  And when I woke I didn't fight to fall back asleep, back to you.  I rose with the sun and the slightest urge to write.  Faint as it was I've kept it all day.  Lodged in my heart, next to the tiniest sliver of you. 

I miss you

You've visited a lot of my dreams over the last few weeks.  I don't know why. 

Memories of you, and me, pop in my head more and more.  They make me smile.  One of the few things that do these days.  Sometimes I laugh out loud, and for a moment my heart feels lighter.  For a moment I feel a reprieve from the dark, oppressing weight of the depression that has been my constant companion for so many years. 

Years.

I wonder if I can, or will, ever be happy like I was with you.  I wonder if that's possible.  I wonder so many things.  Like does God exist.

So many things lost.  So few things gained.

You still make me smile. 

And cry.

Last night I stared at the growing number of prescription bottles on my bathroom counter.  I wondered what would happen if I took them all.  Statistically speaking I'd wake up with a headache and an upset stomach, banned from ever receiving decent medications in the future.

So I walked away.

Today I sat outside, while the snow tumbled from the sky, thinking that I've already lived 31 years longer than I ever wanted to. 

31 years.

What does God do with that?

I should muster the strength to crawl out of myself.  But I deserve this, I deserve every second of it.

Yes.  I live entombed in selfishness.

My friend summed it up best when he said, "people don't kill themselves because they want to die, they kill themselves because they want the pain to end."

If only death would end the pain.  If only death ended life.  But it just transfers it, it's a birth and an existence where there is no pissibiity for an end.

God, do you love them more than me?  I cant' help but think that you do.  They found new happiness and I'm eternally drowning in grief and sorrow.  Drowning God.  Do you hear me?  Do you care?  Is this what "for my best good and development" means?  I fear it is.  I fear I signed up for this.  I fear I knew all of this before it ever started to happen, and I naively agreed to tough it out.  Well, I hate me.  I hate being stuck and useless.  My mind is tormented and I am the one inflicting the torture.

This is all so very pathetic.  And I know it.  Yet I continue to do it anyway.

Cursed.

What Dreams May Come

Night is cruel

Fucked...again

I’m not good at this.  I’m really not good at anything anymore.  I know I use to be.  I use to be determined and curious and had a thirst for things.  I don’t anymore.  I’ve dragged the corpse of whom I was around for years, hoping she’d come back.  Hoping I’d become her again.  Hoping all of this was worth it.  But it’s not.  And it’s not ending.  I see no end to this. 

It’s time to put her down, and with her, myself. 

God, I wish death were the answer.  I wish I wasn’t trapped, but I am, and there are no options for anything else.

Oh how quickly things get fucked up.  Totally and completely destroyed. 

I hate how I feel in my body.  The fat, the marks, the endless list of imperfections.  I’ve worked hard, and for years to be ok with it.  But today I hate it.  I hate constantly living in a fat suit I can’t take off.  I hate feeling betrayed by hunger.  I hate my mental weakness, my inability to force myself to make it better. 

I hate these pathetic thoughts.  I hate myself for feeling this way.  I hate the way I can’t see anything but this internal horror.

I would have left me too.

I’m not loveable.  2% is all it takes to make me this way. 

I’m sad my parents had me.  They could have had so much better.  They should have had so much better.

These frantic selfish thoughts. 

I’m sorry.  Sorry I’m so swallowed up within myself.  Sorry I can’t get out.  Sorry I’ve given up and given in.  Sorry the emptiness couldn’t be filled.  Sorry I was too flawed to feel the good things.

I told God I wouldn’t survive it a second time. 

I hate the nauseating burn of shame and embarrassment that accompanies rejection.

I'm on fire.

I hate the burning ache.  The one that splashes over me when you pass through my mind.

W, the thought of you is mingled with the thought of J.  As the dreaded June 17th creeps upon me I fell myself numbing up,  yet yearning to feel pain.  Physical pain, anything to distract my aching heart.

I can't take this anymore.

I can't take this again.

I shouldn't have believed.

Foolish, once again.