Postmortem

Things have gotten better. They really have. Ive got a new job now, helping out an old friend, my depression has subsided and im ready to get off the meds now, and i barely hallucinate anymore. It used to be much worse. I wouldnt eat. I wouldnt sleep. Or i would sleep for days on end without water even. My heavy self medication with marajuana and alcohol has turned into lighter recreational use, and i feel like that previously impregnable barrier between myself and others has subsided substantially. I feel like a human being again. I feel successful even. But really, thats the problem. It seems like everything is going my way, but clinging to me like a nausea is the urge to just end it. It feels like there is something under my skin, like a mesquito bite, deep inside my chest and it aches and itches more and more each day and im SICK of it. Im sick of my whole life philosophy of ” kill yourself and youll go to hell, you dont want to go to hell, do you?” And its been YEARS this way, since i was a little boy and knew right from wrong, but since i knew i couldnt have it, i became OBSESSED with death, death in my dreams, in my drawings, at night when i lay awake with my eyes open, and in the day… In the day, people would say things, benighn things, like, “how is school going?” Or,”hows the family doing?” ” hows this, hows that, lets talk about these behaviors,” and all of these little things would just remind me of how DISGUSTED i am with my life, and i would see myself die, right there. If you know anything about PTSD, youll know what i mean when i say i didnt just see myself die, i was there, i felt everything, knew what it was to bleed out years before it really happened. Its like reading the most boring book youve ever read on 6+ days with no sleep. But even though i self harmed, to the point of death, it was only because i let my grip on myself slip, for an instant, WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM, and i was seething and seeing red and flashes of white, because it felt sooo good just to let go… Im not advocating self harm. I have terrible scars all over my body that are all too self explanitory, not to mention prominent. But It wasnt my first time. That week. I was already so low on blood, i was starving every ten minutes that day. And i lost so much blood that it coagulated in piles across my flesh. Even before i sat up, the ground was spinning, gyrating, beneath me. I felt the cold sweats, the terrible, terrible thirst, and the freezing cold that was room temperature. Blackness was already eating at the corners of my vision, and when i stood up it ate it away in greath swathes, to little pinpoints of hazy red light. And i was like f*** no they wont find me naked, f*** no and i tensed every muscle in my body the way pilots do in null g’s and it forced the blood back into my head as it spurted out my wounds, and i forced myself back up to my feet and cleaned up my mess and wrapped myself up, then i slept. But before i ever felt that in actuality i experienced it, over and over. Just like ive experienced dosens and dosens of other ways to die… It was disturbing, gut wrenching, to see all that, live all that… And not be able to do s***. Manacheled by my own self control, dominated, by my fear of the afterlife. And im sick of this s*** but theres NO WAY OUT!!!