I'm foolish. Happiness has always eluded me, but most recently it has disappeared completely. I've figured out why this is, the only thing that can take away my happiness is others. Oh, you say death can take away happiness? No, death gives happiness. That's why, before I met the latest him I would sit on the edge of my bed with the knife I keep in my drawer against my throat, an arm eager to pull. Everyone I've tried to seek comfort with tends to some how be torn away from me by a twist of fate. Except one, the first one. Damien wanted the opposite of away, resulting in bruising on my wrists from his hands and bloody knuckles from slamming him across his face in self defense. I should have told someone about what he tried to do to me, but this time fate was in my favor. He moved to Toronto the following week. This blog is for thoughts and feelings.That's what I'm doing. Friends still to those who harm, remember?
I have a feeling tonight the knife will be out of the drawer again, lingering. I never do it though, obviously. I get stopped by my thoughts of people who care. The short list. Listen to me, I really do sound like an idiotic teenage girl.
"Oh no dear me, I was wrong to think love could find me! Oh woe!"
Funny.
If I was a flower, depression and loneliness have deflowered me. I should stay with my books, they never hurt me, merely make me reflect. How doth the little crocodile improve her shinning tail? Ah, in my case, die. Fate is kind, she brings to those who love? Ah, in my case, when I try to love Fate twists me. Killing me slowly. Causes the ones who deflowered me so forcefully. Sometimes when I'm by myself in bed in a half dazed state, I ask Death for advice. I ask Death to appear, to either take me or give me a reason why he won't take me. He never responds, but if it is true when people say that dreams have meaning, what did my dream mean when Death was there? He stood tall, a red rose young and healthy in one hand and in the other, a white withered rose. Can Death speak? Or does Death merely show? Was the red rose me on the outside, and the white rose on the inside?
In conclusion, I am lost.
Yours until death due us part,
A clinically depressed author.
As someone who's struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts before and also tried to help someone who was suicidal, trust me: people do care. You may not think it (hell, you probably don't) but people do care. Not everyone will understand, but some will. You can't keep things like this to yourself forever, or they'll eat through you like acid. I'm not saying you should tell everyone, just someone. You don't have to tell them everything, either. I understand how hard it is to give your soul away. But just try to tell them something, no matter how insignificant you think it is.
ReplyDeleteI haven't written on this blog for awhile thankfully. Things have been better, but school has gotten worse. I would talk to people about this, but my social anxiety forbids it. So, that's why I made a blog. To let me feelings out and not have to have a face-to-face conversation. I'm glad people are reading this, and I'm not just fooling myself thinking so. You've made my day, my anonymous friend.
DeleteI understand. I have social anxiety too. It used to be really bad, like between classes I'd always have tears in my eyes because I was afraid everyone around me and what they were thinking. I had a friend in my last period class who'd always ask me what was wrong because my eyes were so red. To this day, I've never told her why. So yeah, I get you.
DeleteAnd honestly, it's no problem. I'm just thankful I could help, even in a small way.
It's strange how whenever I write on this blog, I always find myself coming back and reading your comments. I just feel that perhaps I should thank you again, whether you see it or not. Thank you.
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