Sunday, November 1, 2009

The Power of Dying

The deeper into winter we go the sicker I begin to feel. Small things at first, beginning in late August. Mental blips that have turned into full on manifestations of craziness are beginning to worry me. Seeing things that I know can't be there. Hearing things that I know aren't even of this world. It's all turning into a whirlwind that I'm paranoid is going to whip me up and throw me far away from the progress I've made. I've nearly made it to my 2 year mark. On November 5Th 2009 it will be 2 years since I have been in the Mental Hospital. I never really expected myself to make it two years almost. Not as sick as I was. I fully expected to be dead at the end of 2007. Death by sorrow.

Internal sorrow - one that never let's you sleep. Never lets you breathe. Never lets you hear anything other than the demons in the darkness reminding you of your flaws and failures. How you hate yourself and everyone around you must hate you as well. How you try and smile so they never know but inside you're burning with a pain so great that it threatens to consume you entirely.

I've had death on my mind lately. I suppose it's because I hate myself and wish I were dead. (Please don't confuse me with an Emo. Depression is not a fashion trend.) I feel vacant even though I know I should feel somewhat full inside. I have beautiful nephews who think I'm their mother. Grandparents who love me. Friends who care about me and a lover that I'm crazy about. But I can't shake this feeling of just wanting to quit. Just wanting everything to stop spinning. Just wanting to sleep forever. I'm grappling at material things because I can't grasp anything else. Trying desperately to fill the void in my soul that just won't close back up. It's as if someone took a jagged razor and tore a cavern through the middle of my soul and nobody ever cared enough to stitch it back up. I can't seem to get myself sewn back together. No matter what I do. My newest attempt is about to be going back into therapy.

But I digress.'s my anti-drug so to speak. A malevolent being that dreams of its own demise. That's what I am. I have become enveloped with plotting my own destruction again. It's wrapped my thoughts up and is holding them for ransom. Payment being my life. Only then will the internal harassment cease. What a price to pay for peace of mind...

I dream of cutting myself up into a million tiny pieces.
I dream of hanging myself up high in tree branches for everyone to see.
I dream of taking a million of those pretty pills I so love. How I would love my drugs right now.
I dream of slitting my wrists wide open and letting my veins pour out my lifeblood.
I dream of walking into a river and never coming back up for air.
I dream of sitting in a garage with a car running to asphyxiate myself.
I dream of blowing my brains all over the walls.
I dream of swimming in an ice cold lake until my lips turn blue from hypothermia.
I dream of driving a knife through my heart.
I dream of the day that my breathing stops and I feel no more...and I bleed no more....and I won't hurt again.

That's why dying was so magnificent. For a moment in time - the pain simply stopped. I didn't hurt. The hole in my soul wasn't aching. My mind wasn't thinking. It didn't hurt when I was breathing because I wasn't breathing. I wasn't breathing and it was beautiful.

I just want to die.