I can’t say anything about myself because of the nature of my job. They don’t allow people to speak up, tell the truth or reach out. It would look bad…
Im giving up. After years of fighting to get the help I need, I give up. They say I’m a piece of shit, they say I don’t work, they say I disappear and just do my own thing. In reality, I’m so scared of them I would never dare take a break. I am a workaholic. It’s a coping mechanism that allows me to fear less. Maybe if I’m freakin perfect, all the time, everyday, maybe if I’m an hour early everyday and stay late everytime I have a chance, maybe they will leave me alone. Maybe I could even be one of them and belong. Maybe I’ll make friends. Maybe I won’t be scared to leave my house and be seen. Maybe I can go get groceries without having an anxiety attack. Maybe I will finally stop starving myself because the fridge is empty and I’m too scared they will be at the store….
But that’s never gonna happen. Nothing will change until I quit, leave, lock the door and never step outside again. I don’t care if I starve, I’m never hungry anyways. I don’t care if I’m cold, at least it makes me feel something.
I saw what their doctor wrote about me. I read it. It says I’m just trying to get time off. It says I have to be kept under the microscope so I don’t get away with anything. It says I’m not going to get help.
Years ago, I got hospitalised because of a failed suicide attempt. I don’t even know how I saw morning after that night. I don’t even know what happened. They wouldn’t tell me. I got released after a while with the recommendation that I don’t return to work. The next day I was back at work. They kept me so drugged up I had no idea what was happening. They made me sign papers and make important decisions. They ruined my career. From that day I fought to get help and be treated with respect and dignity.
Today, I gave up. I’m already dead inside. It’s only a question of time before the rott reaches the outside. Then I’ll be dead inside and out. I’m not worried about dying. But I’m worried about my dog. He’s my service dog. He’s been overloading in the past year because of how bad I’ve been doing and he is 24/7 trying to save me but what he does doesn’t work anymore. He looks old and sick now. I’m worried about what it’s gonna do to him. But I have to go now. I don’t see how I can stay alive much longer even if I tried. It’s gonna hurt him so much. I would never have the heart to take him with me to the other side. I could never do that. I don’t want to think about that anymore.
I had a little girl before. She doesn’t exist anymore. I would give anything to go back in time and hold her tiny hand once more. I could die with a smile, happy. She kept me alive all this time. I kept thinking what if she could see me right now, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her. I still talk to her all the time in my head. But I’m talking to a ghost, a memory, something from the past. I was never able to let go…
They are right. I am useless, worthless, I don’t deserve to live life on Earth with everybody else. I’m a monster. If you ripped my skin opened, there would be no organs, no flesh, only black tar, pain, screams and nightmares. I use to wish for someone to save me. I still do. But in a completely different way. I wish someone would have the compassion to save me by allowing me to die with dignity. When I kill myself, I will be exiting this world in my piss and shit with a deformed face. I wish someone could give me the gift of dignity. I want to die with peace inside my heart. I want to die with serenity in my grin and my eyes closed. I want to go while I imagine holding my little girl.
I hope there’s nothing after. My soul is too tired. There’s no light in my darkness, no moon in my sky.