I am craving to write, to hear the scratching of the fountain pen against the paper where my thoughts, feelings and stories leave me, only to be imprinted forever as a different memory to that of my own.
These memories I can choose to relive or forget, to read, or watch as the paper slowly curls and turns to ash in the fireplace warming my soul…
These are the times where my thoughts are my enemies.. They say keep your friends close.. but your enemies closer.. There is no way for this to happen further, my thoughts plague me, bringing me ever so close to the darkness; it’s black fingers tracing outlines on my every neuron, enticing me to it’s irresistible realm where light no longer enters.
This is the horror I must face.
I pick up my weapon as I begin to scrawl, the battle may have just begun, but the war will always wage..
I can not win, I can only fight it.
I’m numb. I sit here at my desk, writing in an attempt to clear my head, in preparation for the long journey ahead, sleep will not come easy….
They say life is predetermined… well it’s contested, some like to think otherwise..
I was once the same.
After all my troubles, lost loves, and heartbreaks, I no longer want to be responsible for the hardships that have crossed my path.
I want to be free of the guilt.
I approach my bed, my sanctuary, I want to sleep even earlier tonight, but sleep will not come easy…
The shadows that fill up the corners await for the sun to set, ready to plague my night, pushing sleep out of reach for fear of the unknown.
My eyes droop, yet my anxiety peaks I struggle for peace, for rest. Tossing and turning, restlessly, I am unable to fight the shadows which now linger above me, filling my room. Light is now the minority, slowly fading away, there is no hope for me now, there is no turning back.
I feebly try to think positively, try to pull my sheets closer around me; a mock shield for the deadly enemy.
My thoughts are penetrated, streams of blackness pour in, invading every ounce of conscious thought, my mind is no longer free, and the emotions that fall with it, suppressed, held against my will.
I have become nothing, but a raging inconsolable stranger to those whom I love, and love me, what’s left of them.
My eyes can no longer fight it, giving up by closing my eyelids, to let in what final madness can be established within the last place of hope.
No longer can I escape the reality that is my own, no longer can I look forward to dreaming; leaving behind my troubles and fears, no longer can I visit my hopes and aspirations, of which will one day could have been.
They will never be fulfilled, destiny has already chosen my fate, for now I relax, the now addictive darkness overriding my fears, pushing me further into my inescapable nightmares.
My new reality.
Darkness is my enemy.
Darkness is my friend.
As I write these words by moonlight, I cannot help but wonder, what will be the end of us.
Will we be ok?
There is no going back any more.
There is only deeper, further.
An owl hoots outside my window, reminding me of my childhood, spent watching late night horror movies, the owl a reminder of something nocturnal, the one with the ability to pierce the darkness.
Something in which I could not do, I could not escape this black abyss. I suppose you could say it was something of my own fault, something in which I had chosen, the yellow brick road was not for me, so another path was taken.
A path less travelled, yet so often recognised.
Its addictive, its repulsive, this darkness consumes me and my mind, yet i must rid myself of this affliction, this desire for more.
I will never fully recover, even if I choose to, it has taken my heart, and my soul.
This darkness will always consume my life.
The depression will never fade.
Sitting on the leather bound couch, sniffing into a tissue, crying my soul out to the world, only to be heard by the man intent on monetary motivation.
And how does that make you feel? He asks bored, she’s just another cash source to him, she’s nothing to him, he doesn’t care.
I tell him my story and receive only blank stares, he’s not looking at me, he’s looking to the billboard behind him, the latest advert for the new range of lingerie released to the public by Victoria’s Secret.
The ring on his finger glinting in the sunlight drawn from the skylight above. He wasn’t even aware what i was saying.
I just can’t stand how people can just sit there and not listen to me, even when they pretend to…
Yes people do that, go on. He says in an automated response, his voice monotone, his scribbling making circular motions clearly outlining what he saw on the billboard behind me.
I brush my hair behind my ears, my eyes noticing the scars that lined the my wrist, they blared at me, glowing white as if a painful reminder of what was to come in my moments of solitude.
He stands up, pacing, his words drowned out by my thoughts of disgust, if he wouldn’t listen, who would.
The scars glowed hot again, my throat aching from the early morning purge. I was no one, no one. My tears running in a constant stream down my face, i couldn’t help it, i had no one, what could i possibly do.
Random sentences emerged through the psychologist’s rant. It will get to you.
… They cannot help it, they cannot help you, but i know something that can.
He got out his prescription pad, scribbling the words of a pharmaceutical drug, the name appearing all over his desk i noted as i stood up to take the prescription, letters of thanks for his avid support for their sales.
I sniffed back the rest of my soul, and heart, what was left of it. And exited alone, without the warmth of love, consideration, nor care that others would share with me.
Why wouldn’t anyone care for me, all i wanted was the love from someone.
This was nothing out of the ordinary. As i exited the lobby i sat down on the side walk without a care for anything, but my wrenched heart despite the large volumes of traffic rushing past me. I brushed my hair back in a weak attempt to calm it against the rush of wind that passed me with every vehicle, the scars there again, in front of me, a harsh reminder of reality.
What would happen if i lent forward just that little bit, tipping me closer to the edge.
Who would care about me.
This is a story dedicated to all of those who go through this, there is help out there, i’m not talking about the professional kind, there is always someone concerned for your well being, even strangers.
If you need to talk, talk, find someone.
You have less than two weeks to live.
My heart stopped, my mind shifting, no longer focusing on the present, yet to the full reality of this statement.
The doctor continued his explanation, yet i was not listening, i could not hear the details of the tragic truth of my newly found life. Staring at the poster behind the doctors balding, yet oddly shiny head. I saw a family, supposedly happy that their mother had been saved by the cervical cancer vaccine.
Yet nothing could stop mine, the doctor rambling on continuously, as if he enjoyed this part of the job, the words being unspoken yet thought with glee: I get to charge you for telling you all about your inevitable death in painful and most likely upsetting detail. He was a part of a capitalist society, sadistic to the bone.
*This story may affect some people emotionally. ‘Read More’ only if you are certain you are stable*
It is also “RU OK?” Day
Whilst i’m highly opposed to the crude spelling of this even i am happy that depression and other mental illnesses are being treated with compassion and care for one another, and moving away from common practices of drugging up people who suffer from such illnesses.
Tonight in highlight of this even i am opening my ask box to anything related to this day. Similar to Secret Sunday. You may post anything, however it does not have to be regarding a secret, if you seek advice you may ask.
For more information regarding this day go here.
My Ask Box Can be found here, anon has been disabled but please be appropriate about it.
Take the time to ensure your closest friends are ok. They may need it.
Over 66,000 People attempt to take their lives in Australia ALONE. Imagine how much difference it makes to have someone who cares.
Tomorrow will be the day three years prior in which i saw my best friend take their life.
This was a very traumatic point in my life, i had no idea what i myself, could do.
Her name was Rebecca, she was 15 at the time, to many she was a carefree, kind and a sweet young teen. In a sense she was, but people in their self concentrated lives were too busy to notice the other traits in which she hid, yet screamed for recognition in an attempt to save herself.
I was on school holidays at the time, when i met Bec, we met on pure chance, bumping into each other at the local park where i enjoyed reading books to get away to my imagination, a realm where i can escape the passing by of the world.
She tripped over me whilst walking across the grass, deciding to look up to the sky at that very moment not seeing my body as i joined her path.
We connected, becoming good friends, we shared secrets, i learnt about her troubles and helped her through it, she told me once; I’m not afraid of dying, its the only inevitability in our lives. I will never forget those words.
The reason she feared dying was being forgotten.
I tried my best, yet she was in a dark place, unable to reach out and grab the hand desperate to pull her out. I grabbed hold at once, enough to begin pulling her out, she got better, slowly but surely, we spent a lot of time together.
But she let go.
All i remember were her pleading eyes.
I wish things were different, it would be nice to see her smile again.