To Sunset

A painting for my mother…

Went to a volunteer interview today. I’m actually very excited about the department I’ll be assigned (hopefully) a position. The collection and research part of this massive and extremely impressive museum in my city. It’s the perfect distraction from the nowhere my life is going and I’ll learn some new skills about something I’m interested in. Anyway, I won’t speak about everything else that’s been going on for fear of it falling apart before it even gets started….I’m trying to keep myself balanced. Don’t get too high on hope and don’t sink all the way just yet. And for that, I’m ready for whatever happens. If the door opens I’m going through it no matter what, and if not–well I’ve got a good fix for that too.

Again

 My extended family was over for dinner today. We were talking about taking a trip to Arizona to see the grand canyon this summer, and were planning the budget. They joked about the money we’d need to put back for food, and agreed we will all probably be losing weight on the trip and not eating as much. But the funny part is when they said I’d probably need to plump up before we left so that when we got back no body would think I was sick (with how thin I could possibly look at the end of such a trip). I laughed and thought it as my kind of humor. Because it would be the truth. I personally would probably not eat nearly enough, in order to save money. It’s my nature to be the one to scale back and to be the one to offer and wait a long time for my turn. I don’t know why, but it is how it is.

Anyway, I feel like I am going to crack open soon and become completely nonfunctional, with the way I am going on, living with such emptiness and with the guilt about my failures. It’s weighing on my effort to try.

I wrote this short poem a few days ago, remembering things, and knowing that hopelessness is never truly gone from my thinking.  

 

Again

 

Heartbeat-

One cruel lie

The lone voice

Just wants to die

 

A helpless crave

For blood to pour

Dreamed drips

Upon the floor

 

My tries at death

In secrecy

The weak attempts

No one has seen

 

And once again

Another night

I’m by myself

And not alright

 

A Life Undeserved

 

 

A tiny pill, happy, numb

A death-like sleep, soulless blood

Conditions were set long ago

Potential burns, the ashes snow

 

Up that night, looking at scars

Whisperings, those many marks

‘Want death, feel sad, depressed’

‘Sit still and wane in worthlessness’

 

My soul should be thrown in

And spread for all it’s worth

Whatever blessed glow is left

Is fully undeserved

 

 

 I have the time now, to sort through the disorganized lines I wrote weeks ago and put a message together to explain what’s really been going on in my head. I don’t think too highly of myself, ever. I am taking things day by day, with a small goal to make it through November.

 

My mother and I were out having dinner a few nights ago and I blatantly rushed in the question to her about what she wanted me to do, I hoped in a way that gave away my desperation. To get more specific, I asked her about school and the ‘what if’s’ regarding my student loan. Like what if my loan doesn’t cover certificate programs, only degrees-what am I to do after that (since I really don’t think I’d make it through finishing an entire degree’s worth workload, whether it’s two years or not)? She didn’t go into things that far into the future, because I could tell, it left her just as unsettled as it leaves me every second I think about it.

 

Inside I’ve gone very quiet. Knowing that this winter I could be out on the streets by choice, or dead the same leaves me with nothing else to say. I know it’ll be something unpleasant, but deserved, waiting for me. After all, aren’t I too lazy, or broken and screwed in the head to finish school, or get a job, or live at all? Aren’t I too selfish or too stuck up to live for what I’ve been given, no matter how I feel?

 

You know, it’s settling in again. The whole ‘I’m not going to be around to care’ thread of thought. What a failure. And I can only guess that a part of the reason I’ve drastically messed with when and how much I eat and drink now is to prove to myself that I can commit to something. Stupid, but what else do I really have to manipulate but this body in which I’m trapped? Who’s it hurting?

 

It’s just that I can’t stand myself, I mean look; I don’t really own the mateiral things I have because I am not the one who earned the money to buy it all you know? I still can’t legally drive, so going places is not on my terms, always someone elses, and even if it were on my terms, I have no where I would want to go, I have no friends to see, no family that wants to see me unless it’s necessary, and I’ve lived so long in this house feeling taken for granted. But even if I were gone, what I do for others wouldn’t be missed. I’m not enough to consider, nor should I be. I don’t need to stick around.

 

I don’t know what an expert would call it, chroniclly suicidal, or with suicidal ideation, whatever this is, I don’t know why I keep it such a close thought. I don’t know why it brings me comfort or why I see it as an option always there for me to consider. It’s just been this way for a few years now, and maybe I should be labeled a coward or a loser because I will be the first to say that I want to run away, that I am afraid and pathetic. But mostly I will say I am angry with who I am, and with it being dificult for me to make the changes within to make my life easier. And also because I simply don’t know what I want, and feel my time has run out to think about it. I always thought and belived that by eighteen I had to know the plan for the rest of my life, that I had to want this and that in order to be called a success. I turn nineteen in what, three weeks, not any closer to a solution, besides disappearing all together. Not that any of this matters….I don’t have a plan, for living or dying right now. Just getting through November without completely losing myself to my thoughts is enough of a plan/goal.     

Soon To be Over With

       Well, tomorrow I will withdrawal from school. And I guess sooner or later they’ll send me a bill for whatever I owe on the loans. This is hell. My mother doesn’t get it. Nobody does. I want to tell her that I don’t want what I am expected to want. What is life? Working at a job you don’t care about, just to get money to buy things you also don’t care about. God, why don’t I just starve. I want her and everyone else to be so angry with me. They should hate me with everything and then I’ll disappear, just the way I should. It would be easier if they said they hated everything about me…confirming what I already feel, making it easier to fall completely through.

She used the words ’she’s dropping out’ to my father, since he’s taking me to the college tomorrow. It sounded like a knife going though me. As if she’s stating finally that I am a failure. I have not lived up to her expectations. But it doesn’t hurt worse than wanting to escape this whole thing. I am scared all over again. Stuck all over again in my own failure. It’s easier to curl up into my mind and block the rest of the world out, pretending I don’t need to eat or drink or feel, and pretending I’m not distressed despite the tears and the blood. I don’t want to hold on anymore.

Looking back trying to see how everything could have led me down this path, I start to remember the things I just didn’t have, things that I see my cousins and even my parents have had. They all haven’t and didn’t lose their friends when they most needed their support. They all had some kind of support from their immediate family. They never got completely lost in themselves like I have, driving sharp things into their skin to dig out a reason. They never got this far. I look at my three younger cousins, all girls, three to four years younger than me, and non of them are where I was at their age; friendless, hopeless and hanging on to nothing at all. They are fortunate right?

I am still running. From life and from relationships and pressure. I avoid and it’s been that way for so long. Nobody ever told me how to handle this. It’s as if they all assumed I’d know everything I’d need to know to be on my own in life once I turned eighteen. No option I am left with is one I want to stick up for. What would they do with me, if anyone knew I wanted to end my life and would not accept anymore “help”, no more pills, no more talking? They would shut me out for the lost cause that I am and forget just as they should. It’s not so hard to understand anymore really. Disposable, useless, filthy and deranged…who could look at me and not call me a throw away?

Somebody should call me out. Send me on my way down, because I will not ever complete what my heart is actually hoping for, for my life. The population is full enough and I am useless. Art is not needed, and if it is needed, there are better people out there to overshadow me. My poems are probably too dark or boring to be published. They always find reasons to reject things…I could try, with the short amount of time I have left though. I’ll try and sell myself as best I can, and when it doesn’t work, at least I will be content with taking the risk at all.

“Nothing”

Sort of how I’ve been feeling the last couple of days. It’s been hard trying to really get back into writing poetry, and write something I am really satisfied with. This is a start I guess. I think a lot about being nothing. It’s hard explaining exactly what I mean by that because it’s really more than what it sounds like.  

Irritated; ready to die
My tears hang on for dear life

Won’t my familiars admit the truth?
I am around without a use?
I shade in well, I disappear
In disturbed thoughts no one else hears
To be apart of nothingness…..
Between each breath and each second

Nothing is decided, nothing recognized
Where lives of all sorts are born to die
I’ll keep away. I will not leech
Isolation has a point I’ve reached
When talk turns a weak enemy
When those around refuse to see

As prayer, and bright hopeful dreams
Decide to mean nothing.

Night

     My mother got very upset today after failing a test for the second time required by her job. She missed the goal by one stupid point. She got an 89% instead of the mandatory 90%, and the people grading the tests weren”t decent enough to bump her grade up. But they don’t know that she’s got severe test anxiety. She came home early crying about the situation. As I was trying to talk her through it, she made the decision to go to the emergency room and talk to a counselor there. 

I am slightly envious that she so willingly decided to go to the hospital like that for emotional distress. I’ve only been close once I can remember about asking to go to the hospital, more than a year ago, when I didn’t want to go home and was suicidal. I didn’t end up going that time because I just couldn’t get the words to leave my lips that I needed to. A few bad things resulted from that, but i still don’t know if I’d willingly make it known that I needed to go to the hospital for a crisis like that. At times, it does scare me. The way I can so easily keep quiet and be secretive, even if every part of me knows it’s wrong and is fighting against it.

My mother’s alright now. From what she told me, she felt much better after she was able to talk to someone about what was going on at her job. Even though there are times I hate thinking about my therapy sessions, I will admit I like having someone to talk to like that. Face to face without worrying so much about judgement. But of course, I can’t tell my therapist everything. If I did, I am sure he’d suggest putting me away somewhere to be watched for a time probably. I don’t know what he’d suggest, but I know I wouldn’t be alright with it.

I am too good at lying…Beside that, I don’t think I know exactly what the full truth is anymore. If someone asked me how I feel, I wouldn’t have an answer. What does it mean when I don’t have an answer to that?……Anyway, here are a few lines I wrote a few weeks back.

 

Eyes of a soft shimmer, burst with glimmered tears

Tiny shards of sable songs

They fall and fall forever

Voices of desperation scratch gray until it bleeds

Beautiful insanity, lit spectacles of ruin

Drunken delusions slurred a world that made more sense

A timely dose of nightshade

So asleep, I’m almost dead.

 

 

Reality

The title of this poem kind of sums up what I’m talking about in it. It’s scattered, like most of my writing, going from one thing to the next, where it’s easy to get lost unless you’re me and know what was running through my head when I wrote it, but anyway…I have a note book with random lines I write, and when I want to write a poem, but can’t really figure out a specific topic, I try to string some of those lines together to accumulate a topic. This is the result of weeks from doing that. The form is one I made up as I finished writing. I just think this poem fits for the time right now with my life. Going from wishing someone could see what was happening to me, to blaming myself and feeling terrible guilt, to being bored, numb, and lifeless day in and day out.

Certain dreams cause me a fit
No one deciphered my silence
Or noticed my laughter had a glitch
Truth is hidden so well in a hinge
Who cares when fresh blood arrests my attention?
Or when my wounds manifest an infection

I still rot the inside out.

Life won’t accept a fragile confidence
It effortlessly mutilates my own self respect
I am dedicated to the silky texture of rejection
Familiar abandonment’s painful affection
To steal away from future years….
Tonight makes a promise for tomorrow’s tears

Soggy prayers in faithful doubt.

I have an aura in gray
My plans fall apart so beautifully
From light to ash, I’m not worth its healing
Solitude never negotiates my feelings
My senses only recognize a sour burn
Thick fluid of my eye growing bored and course

A real spirit’s never found.

I have created a page titled ‘Eden’ that’s got more (not all) pictures from my day at Eden Park’s botanical garden.

More of the same…

      For the last week, I have probably cried every single day. This is all just not good. Nothing is right anymore, and it hasn’t been right for so long. And I am tired of repeating myself, feeling the same stale emotions, feeling hopeless about the future. I can not think about the future without considering not being around for it.

Classes start tomorrow for me. English and Human Relations. Both required for my degree. I am not happy. When I say that, I now it’s nothing to care about, because day after day millions of other people out there aren’t happy, yet they endure and continue their lives. But the difference I guess between me and them is I don’t have a true reason to continue. I don’t want a husband and kids. I don’t want to pretend I am worth anything in this life. It is useless, and it is a lie.

My family….forgets about me. They are the last. I don’t need it anymore. My thoughts are fixated on self-destructive things. The mess I am is right beneath my mother and brother’s eyes and they have done nothing to let me know they see me. Good. I’ve known for a long time that I could get away with a lot around them. I can do what I want. Many times there have been tears on my cheek, and blood on my sleeve, and they were perfectly blind. Here I am, thinking about killing myself, knowing well that I could get away with it.

I know; there’s always something holding me back from it, and in lighter moods I am so grateful for those things. I know it might get better. I have to put my care in that, but it doesn’t mean I can simply ignore the way this crying and these tears aren’t enough. It’s supposed to be the release, yet I can cry for hours and still feel the same. 

I went for help many months ago, and I’ve fallen back in a worse way. I know there’s help out there, but now I truly don’t care. I know it may not work at all, to do this all over again. I am unwilling to do anything at all it seems…. and that’s the biggest problem.

Fear has a grip on me, anxiety, negative expectations, low self-esteem…These aren’t things pills, or talking through with someone else can fix. It might help in realizing things, but the way I see it, it took years to get me as unhealthy as I am now, so it will take years to fix it. I am not sure I’m up for that. I don’t have years to get myself together. But I’ve got right now to fall apart completely.

I have been drawing for hours at a time lately. It keeps me away from other thoughts. I wish I knew what was wrong with me. I can’t change the past, so why do I let its guilt and embarrassment affect me now? Why do I remember what hurts when nothing calls for it? I guess because the past holds a lot of emotion. Hurting is better than feeling nothing at all for so long, in my eyes at least.

Goodnight.

 

All the lonely people…

    I’ve had all the friends I’ll ever have, and they’ve all gone away. I avoid making new friends in the real world now. I don’t answer the phone because it’s never anyone for me. Why am I still living? What kind of life is this where I’ve trapped myself so severely, isolated myself beyond the point of insanity? Why go on? I’ve lowered my dosage by another 25 mg, meaning I’m taking the least amount I can without cutting a pill in half, and I feel like dead weight. Throw me away already, I am nothing good. Damn…I can hardly get out of bed now simply because I can’t find the motivation to do so. Sure, there’s a lot I can do, many hobbies, but I just can’t move some mornings. It’s to the point where my legs and hips will ache as I lay, and I still don’t move, despite the increasing pain. It’s as if I don’t care if it hurts to lay there, I just don’t want to leave my bed and face the task of occupying another day.

50 mg, of Zoloft. That’s all I’m taking now. One tiny pill, and I guess I got what I wanted. It’s not so scary to think about pain anymore.  Not like when I was on 150 mg of Zoloft..lol. That’s only because I was twitching and moving and thinking too much, and too fast to consider pain and death. I was actually living during those few weeks. Not anymore. Now I know I truly can’t expect anything to work out for very long…this medication’s effects wore off too soon….at least that’s what I’m guessing happened.

There’s a feeling welling up inside that tells me something has to die soon in my life. Maybe it’s a way of thinking I have, maybe it’s a relationship within the family, or maybe it’s simply a bad habit, but something needs to die. That includes my physical death. Wouldn’t that be a weight at least off my family’s shoulders? My inability to get a job, or to make contacts and relationships makes me believe I can’t live and be independent. That scares me, because it means I might be a leech the rest of my life, and I don’t want that. But then I ask myself what I do want, and I come up with nothing. That doesn’t scare me; it makes me think I’ve just figured out the answer to every problem. If I want nothing, I shouldn’t take anything, not even another breath.

Things got complicated. And I realize I’ve not gotten better, just more tangled in the nightmare, too involved without anything to offer. I can not solve it.

So Anxious….

           I think I’m getting more anxious about interacting with people than not. Distrusting of more than what I thought. Before it was only crowds that I stayed away from, now it’s as if I’m feeling unsafe around people as individuals, not just the crowds anymore. I’ve been watching too much news; there’s something conflicting going on in my head. I know life is short, I know I should do my best to live the best way I can. I am trying, and instead of feeling guilty for my opportunities and for being the burden I’ve always considered myself, I’m really stuck about how to change things. There are still things going on with my family that do affect me. And as grateful as I try to feel for what I have in my life, there’s still that thought echoing about how I really should be gone. How I really should find a way to disappear.

I’ve been approved for more school money from the loan company. It eats me up inside knowing I have debt already. Thousands of dollars. And it only builds and builds. They expect me to start paying it back six months after I get my degree in a few years. What if it takes me longer to get a job? What if by the time I get my degree, it’s still not enough? There are so many what if’s, worrying about them literally might kill me. 

I don’t understand our society. It hurts to see the price for further education only get higher when it’s almost a fact that you can’t get a decent paying job without something extra, beside a diploma. Everything feels hopeless…you only make it if you want it bad enough in this life. My mother is always shoving harsh realities in my face with talk of college and jobs and money and bills. Thank God we don’t have a gun. Or thank God I’m such a recluse, which keeps me away from everything…

I haven’t been able to write in my journal in weeks. I guess that’s just fine. I seem to have more to say when I at least feel as if I’m communicating to someone else. Somebody real.