It’s time to talk about this
On Sunday, February 24, 2013, I took 2 ambien, 2 aspirin, and cut my wrists 17 times with the hope I would bleed out and die during the night. I felt calm, a little remorseful, a little sad, and a little guilty. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up, looking peaceful under my sister’s blanket.
Its been almost two weeks. Ive been dropped out of school, put in a locked ward, brought home, out through programs and doctors and new medications.
And I’m crying.
Ive talked to more people than I can count. Made deeper relationships, joined a community, lost friends, lost trust, lost a life of easy understanding.
Then why do I feel so miserable. Why does seeing her name fill me with such pain. She wasn’t the only reasons I fought a fear of pain and blood, but she was a big part. God I
love loved her so much. And I just cant seem to move on. I want to so badly. I want to feel that wonderful rush, that sly smile, the hands touching, the lips, the sex, the cuddling, the talking, the being together.
But i just want to hear her thoughts. I want to get that letter. Finally settle in my heart why she left me. Why she broke my heart. Why i lost one of my best friends. Why i was alone. Alone in a room full of people. Alone with my best friend. Alone. alone.
I know the heart isnt the actual seat of love. But thats where I feel it. Its what hurts the most. And I wish I could dig down and cut it out. Not have it hiding behind my smiles and jokes. Not having it rotting my insides. Its a cancer. A malignant cell that expanded and grew and filled me. I cant hare her. I wish I could.
Jesus, 4 trains is such a joke. She spent all that time telling me how important it was. And cut me out. I bled out for classes, myself, my pride, my despair, my entrapment. And her. i bled out for her. And sometimes I wonder how much deeper i would have to cut, where i would need to put the blade to have the blood actually gush. And then I wonder if she would even come to the funeral.
Jesus, i hate being like this. i see you, my invisible audience. My watchers. My protectors. I know this scares you. It scares me. It makes me hurt so badly. And it makes me so tired,
Im just tired. I want to be fixed. I want to not be this anymore. I dont want to be broken. I cant accept that I’m broken. I need to accept it. I need to see it as my life. I need to be a part of that group of Major Depressives. I need to bow down and accept that cross and let it be a part of my life, the cross is there, i see it, i know its rough feel, i know the pain of thorns on my forehead. Its been there for so long.
Maybe someday she see this. Maybe someday I’ll back to this and wonder how I could ever feel this way. Maybe this is all part of the play I will write.
I write so I wont forget. So that i wont disappear. So that i cant understand who i am, where i am and why ive done what I’ve done.
Breathe in, breathe out. Take my meds. Fall asleep. Hope that no one reads this blog tonight.