Sunday mornings, aka realization of inevitable sadness. I am a horse riding freak. and im pretty damn good too. I’ve been riding since the age of 6, so about 10 years now. But its an expensive sport. With the move and everything it was put on a list of “least concern”. For my parents that was. I hated not being able to ride. After a year, we might finally look at a place to ride. In 2 years, I probably won’t be able to ride anymore anyway. Uni will be taking over my life, and I guess horse riding is not very beneficial to my resume. And when work comes around, there is no time. And when I finally retire, I will be too old. Goodbye childhood dream of becoming a competitive rider. I’ve thrown you in the trash of growing up.
Robin Williams. What can I say? My stomach dropped when I heard the news. I loved him and his work as if he was my friend, my favourite movie is Dead Poets Society, I couldn’t stop watching Flubber as a child. An invincible man has been taken away. I hope he is in a better place, one where he feels as happy as he made us feel. I won’t forget him, the world won’t forget him. RIP Robin Williams, O captain, My captain.
it’s been a while, and that has reason. I was okay. Summer was here, i traveled from place to place, didn’t have many problems. No stress = No fucked up feelings. School starts in 4(?) days. So im back. Stressed and depressed. fuck this shit honestly. why the fuck does school make me want to jump of a bridge? However, only 2 more years. Also only 1.5 weeks until I get the goddamn cast off my wrist. Why the hell did I break it??? probably won’t be able to play soccer, or do self defense because of it. Goddamnit. Again. Im just gonna deal.
its so sad/disappointing when you see what influence some people have on your friends. A year ago he was amazing, compassionate, and gentle. Now he makes rape jokes, makes fun of EVERYONE, makes fun of; cutting, mental illness, obesity, girls, just anything sensitive. I cringe in private but can’t face him with how much he is hurting me and hurting so many people around him. Argh!
softly weeps into a pillow. Not much to explain why. Over sensitive to touch and sounds I can’t control. Also fell down the stairs. Mom is mad. Brother thought it would be fun to try and keep hugging/touching me when i said I didn’t want to be touched. I can’t believe I’ll have to wait for 2 years. Then I might be able to live a better life. Without anyone thinking something is wrong. Hold me in your arms tonight, I’ll need the warmth.
broke. Had a fictional conversation with the only person who i’d breakdown in front of. Somehow ended up talking about how events in my life may have led up to not feeling good enough/feeling worthless.
let me bullet point them for you (as far as I got).
being held another year in kindergarten because I was ‘too young’
being beaten at every game
not being allowed to do the only thing I loved to do (crafts)
getting my head stuck in a chair and being laughed at while i cried
being told I had crooked/yellow teeth in 1st grade
being teased for being a teachers pet in 1st grade
losing a friend because I wasn’t ‘playing with her enough’
being allowed to do grade 2&3 in 1 year, but then being yelled at by a parent who’s daughter was told to redo grade 3, and being told I was taking her place, and wasn’t allowed to.
being teased about my age in grade 4
getting a really bad cut on my thigh during a game in the forest and being told by a teacher to ‘suck it up’ (ended up being a really nasty scar, and possibly should have gotten stitches)
spending hours on making personalised crafts for my teachers and finding both of them in the trash less than a week later.
being replaced as goalie for recess because I played with my friends one day
being laughed at for liking a certain guy.
not being allowed to play because i was too girly
not being allowed to play because they didn’t like me
getting ds games stolen by a friend because she wanted them and thought i didn’t need them
finally being in a play of sorts, in a special role (special bee) and then getting the defining piece of my costume stolen by a student until a teacher gave it back to me.
people ignoring/scowling at me because I got to bang the big drum in the play
people saying i suck at drawing in 6th grade
my older brother telling me i will be the drunk/druggie of the family
my older brother saying that i will never be able to handle a technical study.
there’s more, and this is only until 6th grade. Im pretty sure i forgot some too. They might not seem very big but I already was a shy kid with low self esteem, this only made things worse. The ones in italic had the most impact on me as a kid. There is still stuff happening that is making think about a world without me. But I’m too much of coward to do anything about it. I will just try to be invisible as much as possible
I have returned to my childhood home once again. Its weird to start up so easily in a whole different country. School is still going on here. Im free of those shackles for 7 weeks. Well. Not completely. Math tutoring. I asked for it. So I’m only shackled on some days. I don’t handle freedom well. I sleep too much, or sit here all day.
i have been pondering on something weird the entire day. I had a hallucination while dreaming. As in. I was asleep, I was dreaming, thought the dream world was real, but there were certain parts that i knew weren’t supposed to be there and that other people in the dream world did not seem to notice. Freaked me out when I woke up. Googled it. Nothing. Its not Hypnagogia. Don’t know what it is. Hoping it doesn’t happen again. Goodnight.
Even in sleep I am not left alone. Worst nightmare last night. Dreamt a friend killed themselves, was too late to save them. cried into my pillow for at least 30 minutes. It felt too real. Hope it stays in the realm of dreams. It took me a while to remember that she was okay. Nothing had happened. These nightmares are getting worse and worse. Everyone is dying. I can’t stop it.
Im amazed, indifferent, and horrified at the same time to see the world turning. I went into the suicide tag. don’t ask why. someone posted a video. Said they were sorry and had taken the pills and everything. Send a message to the person. Im probably too late. Feeling shittier than ever. She hasn’t responded. It has been 7 minutes. I think she may have passed out from the pills. I couldn’t save her. I hope she is okay. I can’t do this.
first thoughts being jotted down after my return from Bali. I must say serenity is with me. But probably not for long. The burning sun has stopped me from doing anything harmful. Stupid bathing suits. I ache for relief. Can’t produce it. Diet isn’t helping either. Stupid vegetables. No sugar, no carbs. Breakfast consists of 1 egg. Drinks are mostly coffee. I yawn and groan the entire day, but when night comes, I ignite. Stupid pattern. Destructive pattern.
two days ago, awake from coffee. Flipping pages in my history book. Trying to memorize all the dates and events. That was the first time. The first time I heard voices. I’ve always had voices in my head, but they stayed in my head. That time, it sounded like i was actually being talked too. It was overwhelming. Because it wasn’t just one. As soon as I realized it was a voice, about 5 others started talking. I don’t remember what they said. I buried myself under blankets, in the hope they would stop.
I was reading something a friend wrote in my yearbook. “You were there for me when I relapsed, couldn’t have asked for a better friend”. It’s true, I was always there. But no one is there for me (see drunk stuff about friends). I remember trying to put this into words. From my journal : I am a wounded soldier, holding up every friend that has been sot. I’m dragging them off the battlefield, so I can return for another one. With every trip I get more wounded. But I don’t stop. One day I will die because I never asked for help.
I still feel like this. Less, because those friends have not returned to the battlefield (as far as I know). But my foot has been caught in barbed wire. But no one hears my screams. I have shut up for now, and am slowly getting untangled.
Found my poem on a wall. The one at the stairs. Front and center, with 3 others. Right in the middle of attention. Held in my urge to rip it off. Having poetry displayed like that; its as if i put my organs up for sale while Im still alive. Poetry I write is my life support. Its my intestines that help me live. Now its on a wall. Like a blood splatter.
Might have found some way to get through low points. Got my yearbook today, and people write stuff in it. I then remembered I had a planner with these sort of stories from last year as well. I felt good when I read them again, so thats what i might start doing before bed at night.
Feeling really bad right now. Slitting my wrists kind of bad. Texted a friend who I know is awake. Hopefully she can keep me up, and alive. I really should open up to my parents/that teacher again, but can’t do it. I’ll just keep fighting.
So I had to submit 1 poem today, and instead of doing one I wrote during class, I did my ‘Slumber’ poem. It was the only one I sort of liked. So now we wait and see until he emails me asking if i’m doing okay/asks me to stay after class to talk. Sigh. Life was so much easier before anyone knew. I could go to school with band-aids on my arm with anyone giving a fuck. God I miss those days.
Back to the poetry stuff, You know how hard it is to write something that doesn’t hint to feeling suicidal???? I couldn’t exactly write about it since its gonna be fucking published. Secrecy + people knowing is the weirdest shit.
So I tried to figure out for myself why I have such a hard time believing this is reality. Short answer: Nothing confirms it.
Since I was little I imagined that maybe we were just the toys of a kid. Everything we did and saw was created by them. The sky was their ceiling. They were essentially our higher power. We were not in control. This was when I was around 7-9 years old.
Another thing I have believed for a long time is that I’m in a coma. This is a reality my mind made up, while I’m lying in a hospital bed. Everytime i hear something no one else does, it’s someone in that reality talking to me, hoping that I wake up. I still sort of believe this thing.
Then there is the really scary thought that I am reliving my life. When I was around 11 years old, I read this thing that you relive your entire life in your last 7 seconds (i think). The thing that is the scariest about this theory, is that its a never ending loop. You get to the end and you remember everything again. and maybe, the longer this goes on, the less you remember. That’s why I barely remember anything from before 6-7, only flashes.
Beside the toy theory, I also had the story theory. We are a story, ending in maybe a few pages. What scares me about this is that the end seems fixed. All our actions have been decided, there is no free will. Even killing yourself won’t change the story. It is the story.
I have just struggled a lot with reality (also with the whole sight thing, but thats another story). And I know its hard for some people to understand, but its just thing i think about. It is also one of my explanations for self harming. Sometimes I really lose it, and want to get out. I just want to get out of this loop, and instead of actually committing suicide, I try and return to ‘reality’ as everyone else calls it. And cutting seems to help with that.
Reality is lost to me at the moment. I am in a body, that is not my own and never will be. This world is shittier than hell. I know the real world is blending through this fantasy, because I see things, and hear voices. Am I in a coma or something? I have to wake up, I must wake up. I can’t handle this place anymore.
Fun thing about feeling like shit: You try to get drunk of any alcohol you can find, and if the only thing in your fridge is your dad’s dry gin, you will find a way to drink it. I just mixed coffee with gin. It was horrible.
the curse of high school art classes. “Do this, but try and be creative”. Guidelines are given. Only if you follow them, you will get a good grades. Grades are everything in school. You follow the guidelines, finishing a meaningless piece. You are praised by your technique, not your emotion. Your creativity gets buried under layers of false metaphors and paint. It now takes months to come up with ideas, instead of minutes. No paint knife can cut through the pile. Your thoughts are buried. Your creativity is dead.
when you die, you are lost. No cage of words or colours can capture what you were. No DaVinci or Shakespeare can compose your face. No Beethoven can let us hear the melody of your existence. You are gone. Ecen memories won’t do justice. Those lights behind your eyes have shut off, and will never turn on again.
there is not much I ask from anyone. No gifts or chores they have to do. No specific thing that they must complete to stay in my heart. They’ll always be there. You will always be there. Your words etched onto my skin, your voice stuck on repeat in my head. There is not much I ask of you. But there is one thing. One thing I need you to do. One thing that will keep me on my feet. One thing that could save me. Just…. stay
Parents are out. No reason to do anything. So I cracked open a beer and some gin. Don’t know yet what gets me drunk, but who knows. Lots of talking. To myself of course. Or whoever was listening. Blasting music harder than I would ever be allowed, and just yelling at things. For example: My parents, friends, psych, & myself. But then they were represented by furniture.
To my parents; You two can be so fucking ancient. I can’t do shit by myself because I’m ‘too young.’ well, too bad, i’m pretty much making decisions for the rest of my life right now. Also. How the hell do you forget something so easily. A month ago you got that fucking call of the psych telling you that i might be depressed and that I had cut. Not that I wanted you to know. But your reaction was pretty much; “Why did you do it?” and “you can’t be depressed, otherwise we wouldn’t have had fun with you” as in that depressed people will never laugh. News Flash: WE CAN. Dad was slightly more considerate and asked if I wanted a psych, i said no because this fucking aura would then permanently be around our house. I already couldn’t fucking eat for 4 days afterwards. And now we do as if nothing has happened. Which I’m glad for, but I still tiptoe around words that might turn the conversation back to this certain topic. I wish we had always been more open and more fucking open with our emotions, because I shove them in a closet, believing there is a narnia that I can fill up. But instead it explodes.
To my friends. You are awesome, and bitches. Talking behind backs and easily mentioning stuff that A) triggers people in our group, and B) never EVER talking to a person that fucking needs to talk despite seeing, liking, or messaging that person on tumblr about a post they made about it. Im seriously the only one who has ever brought stuff for one of our group after she posted that she’d relapsed. I actually fucking kept her in my sight for a few days, just to make sure she was okay. But nothing happened when I posted that I honestly wanted to kill myself and that I already had the pills in my bathroom.
To my psych. I only saw you once, broke down crying on the fucking couch, almost had a panic attack that you caused, had to cry outside of your office because you were calling my mum, and caused me so much stress I almost couldn’t eat. Good fucking job, shithead. I am lucky that I can avoid you, because even your fucking face causes me to go into a panic attack. And do you HONESTLY believe that a girl that was so reluctant to tell her parents, would tell you everything? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? because, boy, i’ve got to tell you something. PEOPLE LIE. Especially when you put them on the spot like that. So yeah, those 2-3 weeks of feeling down you recorded and 1 self harm attempt. Ha, multiply both of those by 30 or more. AND WHY THE FUCK DO YOU JUST KEEP IT AT THAT. one thing, thats it. No check up or whatever. Not that I want it AT ALL ,but really? a girl told you she felt suicidal and cut herself, and you let her wander out of your office without anything? I really think you should get fired. At least the teacher I told asked how I was doing, without getting weird about it. I think you really should re-evaluate the way you handle stuff.
To myself. We are really fucking up, and loving it. That beer tasted terrible, but we downed it for the numbness. Fake papercuts? have we really sunk that deep. And the fucking music blasting, you’re gonna be deaf in 20 years, but hey, if it stops the thoughts? why not. AND who says we’re gonna live another 20 years? oh right, I’m too much of a coward to even kill myself. So I guess this is as much as I can do to speed up death. The smoking did stop tho, so maybe not as eager to die as I think. You should really stop, but hey, Im not forcing you, because I know I can’t be forced. And no one will ever know everything, but me. Thats how we protect ourselves, and it has worked so far. Good job, dumbass.
Thats pretty much all I yelled through the kitchen, with worse spelling mistakes. Sadly, our voice doesn’t have autocorrect.
Insomnia literally means ‘without dreams’ or ‘no dreams’. So could you call someone who doesn’t dream an insomniac as well? Nevermind that dead language. Anyways. Definition of insomnia: habitual sleeplessness/ inability to sleep. Great. Sleep always sounds like music to my ears, but once I am in my bed, the gears start turning. I rethink things said that day, things I should’ve done, and things I am going to do. Not really easy-thinking for a sleepy mind. Thats why I am up at 1:25 am. I know its not too late yet, but having to get up in less than 5 hours, does make it seem short. And I yawn and rub my eyes, but twist and turn. Some other, darker thoughts tend to surface in these hours as well. Like flying fish they jump above the sea of thoughts and make themselves known. Its in these hours that I think about death and self-destruction the most. But don’t worry; I will not do anything I regret.
This is a little introduction. A quick list of what will be on this blog: Stories, poetry, thoughts, rants, etc. There’s not going to be anything planned, or anything reblogged. This blog will be completely filled with my writing. I created this blog because of the fact that I feel conflicted when I post my writing/ramblings/thoughts on my other blog. Here I can do that without anyone matching a face to the voice. So, it doesn’t matter if you follow me, or not. If you have any comments, throw them at me. Any requests? go for it. Nothing is the limit here, except the alphabet.