I’m shackled to it. I find it cruel.
I’m bound to every breath I take; it’s pain. How do I make it stop?
The walls are closing in, and if I am to deal with this alone, there is only one way out for me.
I challenge, I dare, anyone to tell me differently. I have been begging for help for months— No, my whole life?
Cherished people I’ve loved are dead. People I once called friends, are gone. My despairing, tormented existence was too much to tolerate. It is easier for them to deny the problem exists (that I exist), than to offer their hand to me when I am drowning.
These are the people and services that rant about pop culture mental health, as if they know pain. The sort that post: “It’s ok to not be ok”, or “you are not alone” over a serene background, but ignore the phone when you call.
They don’t matter anymore. Their morality is as void as the words they spit.
If life is so valuable, then treat the lives that enter yours with compassion and kindness.
I might not be alone in my suffering here, but I am alone; standing on broken legs, battered and bloodied. Perhaps you are too.
I nearly died last week. I won’t say how. The finality of what nearly happened, was a relief. Surviving, is confusing.
What is slowing me now? Instinct. For how long? That’s anybody’s guess. Death is an inevitable one-way consequence of being alive. I’d prefer not to rush, if I can help it.
I used to use this site a long while ago. I might stick around to post and comment, or this might be a one-off.
These are my thoughts, and thank you for taking the time to read.