prismaticbleed | 091513 (Reply)

I kind of feel like crying right now, or at least I would if I knew how to emote. But that same root of distress and despair, the same core of all tears that are shown, is weighing me down like an anchor tied to my ribcage, even if my face is just as cold and indifferent.

There's this awful fatigue that won't seem to let me go. I know I need to exercise for at least an hour today but I barely have the strength to move. I keep telling myself it's all psychosomatic. "It's not real," I say. But to be completely honest, I've become stuck in this ritual of denial, this habit of looking at the truth and lying that my family has unfortunately impressed upon my experiences. I'm tired of running, I'm tired of fighting, I'm tired of it all. And part of me still loathes myself for it, because "other people have suffered far worse than you have, so suck it up and stop complaining like a stupid baby."
Is that the correct response, though? Is it right to forsake healing because "I shouldn't be so weak that I get 'hurt' in the first place?

I've had so many nightmares this month. So many.
They were gone for a very long time. Then headspace collapsed, and when it started reforming, just ashes and broken pieces, I lost the precious safety we had all struggled for years to secure.
Last month, I was alone for the first time in most of my life. There was no one upstairs. No one. Now a few people have resurfaced, barely holding on to life, but although at first I rejected them-- convinced that I 'wanted to be alone' and didn't need them anymore, something my family and therapist also expressed-- as the days went on, a terrible realization sank itself into my spine like a death knell.

We've spent at least the past 5 years working together, in every single moment, to heal and grow and live in peace and harmony. We'd stay up all night just talking together, not surrendering to sleep until everyone was able to smile again. We'd share responsibilities and pains and joys and experiences alike, every day, depending on who was best for the job, on what would benefit us all the most. We fought together and learned together and we loved each other more than I can ever express in words.

And I've been spending the past year trying, in spite of my own heart, to convince myself that it was all a lie.
Now look at what I've done.
So many of them are dead. The ones that are left are still suffering terribly, bearing the crosses I refused to acknowledge because "they weren't real either."
And now she's back. She's back, God help us, just like she was when I was a child, and I'm not safe anymore.

I don't want to live the past 10 years over again. Dear God, please don't force me to repeat that decade again. I don't know if I could survive it this time.
But it feels so selfish, so selfish, to ask for mercy.

I'm trying so hard to think positively. I really am. Maybe the "trying" bit is detrimental. Maybe I still can't tell the difference between "thinking positively" and "completely disregarding the things I still need to heal." Maybe thinking is ruining me.

All I know is that today is the first time in weeks that I've suddenly found myself gasping for air beneath the all-too-familiar shroud of suicidal depression.
I don't want this to happen anymore. Please.

I'm sorry for this update. I guess I just needed to express this outside of my own skull for once.