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.     

A disgrace, a failure, and maybe I’m just lazy. Who cares? I don’t.

      A cousin of mine, who’s in her second year of highschool, gets to go to Japan soon. It’s part of something like a “People to people” thing. I used to get those mailings when I was in highschool, but we never got into it. I always figured that of course, my family doesn’t have the money to waste on a trip like that. And I will admit, when I first heard she has this “chance of a life time”, I wasn’t happy for her. I was bitter once again about the opportunities I manage to miss out on. That bitterness only leads to more self directed hate. Very harsh thoughts about what I am limited to; not only limited in a general way by what I look like or where I am from and what my means are, but I am limited by my own (lack of) personality, my fear, my lack of skill at anything practical. Basically, it all falls back to wondering cold about what I am doing here.  

Anyway, truth be told, I would love to go to Japan one day, but there’s no way I am ever flying again - which means I may very well never see that part of the world. Fine (what would it mean anyway? It’s not as if I am going to really do much at all with my life, sending me anywhere would be a waste at this point.)

And school…oh, I think there’s only a matter of days now before I snap about the situation. Hopefully it will be ugly, maybe then I will be convinced that my feelings are very real, and do something irreversible. God, I am not fit to be here. I don’t know what good looks like anymore, what progress means- no way of thinking seems to connect well with what I actually do (absolutely nothing) in regards to taking necessary risks to get along in life.

What do I have to do before I can actually live doing what (I think) I want to do? I have been painting, drawing, piano playing, crocheting and writing for the last three days, persistently. Trying to forget and stay distracted. No thoughts of school, or of the future, or of what I need to take care of myself on my own, or of how I will react when I lose everyone in my life eventually. No thoughts of what worries me. I haven’t wanted to eat or drink or move or look away from what I am doing because it all reminds me that one day, so soon, I will have to find away to sustain myself alone. I will have to find the motivation to keep going and I won’t have time for my distractions, for doing the things I only live to do and be part of.

Do I have to suffer decades of sleepless nights? Or day after day of looking at myself in the mirror with darkened eyes for who knows how long? I see my mother, she’s tired. So tired of everything she’s brought onto herself. Tired of work, of seeing her sons get themselves in trouble, tired of paying bill after bill, and I know, tired of me and of the progress I haven’t made. Tired of me for being something she doesn’t understand anymore.  

Should I feel guilty about this? I have no illness killing me, I am not in poverty or in a terrible neighborhood. I have both my parents. Some may say I have no right to bitch about anything. But while it may look right on the surface, it all disconnects beneath. It is so stupid and pointless and disgusting beneath. Or what is wrong with me? (Left alone too long) Why do I go from one second believing my life is impossible to fix and figure out, to the next second scolding myself for thinking anything could really be wrong.? Once again diminishing the problem or saying there isn’t a problem at all…

You can probably tell I have stopped going to therapy all together. No one has called me in about my medication or sessions. See? They don’t really care. Because they just don’t have to. See they only care if you can pay up and if you actually want their help. Well, I don’t want their help anymore. It wasn’t enough, and I don’t think I’d be willing to seek or accept any more help. I’ve stopped trying. Nobody can save you if you don’t want them to, if you never let them know you’re even going under.

I could never tell my doctors the whole truth. And they are nothing special. They cannot read my thoughts and know what is real and what I’ve really done. I need to stop pretending my life, or the sudden end of it matters, because it doesn’t.

Here’s an image I drew and painted to represent the hand full of good things I keep breathing for. I liked it a lot more a few days ago. It’s sucks now, but I thought I’d post it just to show art is where my hope is.

  

What does it mean?

I’m not sure, but I wrote this to get me thinking about life, what it means, and the difficulty in between every success and failure. Things we do and what we fear and how one thing leads to something else. A song inspired me to write this, and I couldn’t help but mention eveything that ran through my mind…lol.

 

I am purpose, the worship and religion

The reason you get up

The second chances you are given

The unfair and trickery

I am the grief and despair

The moments you realize when no one has to care

 

I am the frigid to the eye of a young

The pending witness

I am the accusation

The fall from grace, the lie, the pain

Fresh hate blown down the throats of the followers

The new born disability, the cigarette, the hearse

 

The truth, the evidence, the shame, the gray

The responsibility neither sheep

Nor leader will claim

I am the confrontation to your past memories

The strain, the peace and ruins of emotion,

Release

 

The family, the friends, the picture perfect end

The mend, I am the constant, the trials and hardship

I am the kiss of impending darkness

When goals and opportunity are heavily guarded

The drive and instinct, the survival, the dream

I am everything you live for

And die to be

 

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.