Life is so full. Full of things and actions and questions and answers and life and color and music and beautiful beautiful things and people. But there are also ugly things. It was all fun and games until my imbalanced brain woke up and realized it could think. All downhill from there. There is still the beauty I long to experience. Each unique wave on each shore, the sunrise and sunset, sun showers and rainstorms and deafening thunder and blitzing lightning. Things growing, things dying. New life and old life watching the color infuse each day. New creatures and old, flying and digging and climbing about. First Snowfall of each year. I never saw snow till I was 16 and a half. It’s so wonderful, delightful, gorgeous, delectable! I love to drink in the world in the scattered good moments I manage to find. Love and friends. Birth and growth. I’m not meant for it though. Because I cannot find my place, I cannot find the joy I’m supposed to in life. My brain sees only hate hate dark negative bad sad angry upset. Death, barren, coldness, dark, evil, malicious things. It refuses to acknowledge the good. Because though I know it is there, I simply could never find such energy or joy or happiness or sunshine within my body. I’ve racked my brain, my existence for a drop of hope. Just one. A forgotten vial in the cabinet of my energy, perhaps. But it has all been long washed away with the bitter, the trauma, the dark, the sad sad pathetic being that I have become. The color and wonder have washed from the fabric of my being, leaving me a sad soggy faded and grey sock forgotten in the wash. There is no point. I’ll never be recovered from this. There is simply no point in trying, and try I have. 18 years to crumble and be quickly forgotten in the wastebasket. I will be forgotten and nobody will remember me. The Collapse takes and takes and takes and takes and I haven’t a thing left to give Except my broken, withered soul.
I’m afraid of myself.
I’m so mean
But i’ve Always had the healthy fear of the adults controlling my life up to this point keeping me from trying anything. I’m 18 now. Nobody will be able to force me into therapy if they notice the slits, nobody will be able to make me go to a mental hospital if they find out I’m suicidal again. And that is a relief but also really terrifying. Because the thoughts swarm my brain and won’t leave me alone for anything. There’s nothing keeping me from stepping to the edge now. I’ve run away, put myself in a questionable financial situation, and can’t find a job because they all refuse to call me the right pronouns or name just because I haven’t gotten it legally changed. My parents show visible irritation when I ask them not to call me that old painful name. Nobody will ever take me seriously. What’s the fucking point. I want to quit.
I have a bully. And they’re really f#%kin mean.
My bully wants me dead.
My bully is called me.
I vaguely remember feeling alive. Like things were actually happening. Things mattered, I thought things through, but then one day somewhere my mind woke up. “Oh f@$k I can think”. It was all downhill from there. I deteriorated slowly at first. Little realizations. “This doesn’t feel right.” “I was only 8”. Minutes and hours with my mind consumed by the things that went wrong before. Dwelling on the trauma that I didn’t understand until the beginning of The Collapse. The doctor says I need pills. We’ll try Dexmethylphenidate, we’ll try adderall. Whatever it takes to get this miserable kid to focus. But the medicine doesn’t control what I focus on. I become fascinated by the smallest distractions. My attention enamored by a twinge under my skin when I move my thumb at a 12° angle. The slightest negative thought sends me spiraling. Staring at the wall. “I hate you. I hate you. Die. Useless. Worthless. Garbage.” Morphing into “you should have stopped him you useles f¿»k. You just watched.” Blades running across my skin. 5 the first time. 15 the next. A downward spiral steadily following along the pages of The Collapse. Escape. I need escape. Run away to Germany for a year at 16. Forced to come back. School is «So Important». “My cousin abused me.” “The neighbor raped Em and I”. Words I finally can speak. But the words are stamped down and tossed into the waste basket by those who are supposed to love me no matter what. My livelihood morphs into a gray. A mistiness befalls my once so adventurous eyes. Everything is silver and nothing matters. Get a job. Quit it three weeks later. Cry all the time? Whatever. Nothing has a purpose. Certainly not me. Even if I did what does it matter if I have no reason for myself to get up in the morning. Run away again the second I turned 18. The Collapse is a cliff. I know it’s started but I’m on a downhill slope towards the waterfall. The inevitable. 3 attempts. Can’t even kill my bully right. “Let’s get you a therapist.” Oh no you forget to find me one for the 13th time. I’m so surprised. What can a therapist do anyway. Turn back time? How funny. Do you know how hard it is to find a job where you’re respected despite the fact you were born in the wrong body? It’s near impossible. Why was I born? To even out any happiness that may have been let loose into the world. My miserable being is to fulfill a suicide statistic. Maybe not today. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll find a good day. Things are muddled. My pages glued together. A great Shakespearean tragedy so thick it’s not even worth writing out anymore. All that I love is far. I am friendless. Disgusting in the eyes of the world. An abomination. Poetic. Whatever. Gone.