If you think about death…I mean, really think about it, you realise that you are, more likely than not, going to reach a point in your life where you are going to suffer. Most likely, it’ll be a physical pain that you’ve never experienced before, and you’re going to struggle. It’s going to hurt. And that pain could go on for hours and hours, or days. You don’t know the fate that life has in store for you. Does that scare you?
And after, you’re what — transcended into heaven? Forced into hell? Left in purgatory? A spirit left behind to guide those that are still alive? Or are we just done, end? The world will continue to go on and on and on, and we will just be finished…forever.
Or do we come back? Do we get a second or third chance at life? Maybe we finally get the chance to be someone else. Or maybe we’re brought back to a world that is worse than what we perceive it to be right now.
Death scares me, but I fear eternity scares me more.
I should have known when you persisted to call me by my childhood name that this was not going to go anywhere profound. I’m not that person anymore (or at least I’d like to think so). Something keeps pulling me back though. It was as if you know that I would be taken back to that negative train of thought and hatred for myself.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any better. When I thought I had figured out the secret to living a happy life – everything came crashing down. I am back to the place where I know that life isn’t about being happy, it’s about continuously searching for more.
I know that people will do anything to win or gain the upper hand. They don’t care about you or your feelings. They care about themselves because people are selfish assholes. In the process, I’ve lost my voice. Everyone is always stealing my voice so that I fade away so easily in the crowd. I’m not even a face that stands out, I’m the person in black that is hardly recognisable in the shadow.
I’m tired of hearing the same things from you though. “You deserve more” “everyone goes through it”. It’s something you say because you really don’t have the balls to say out loud what’s been going through my mind from the time that I could process meaningful thoughts.
Here’s my voice, here are my thoughts, this is what I am saying – don’t edit me, don’t change it and don’t misconstrue it. This is me.
To my body, I am sorry. I fucked up. I worked hard at respecting you and my mind. I fucked up.
To my family, I fucked up.
I did this all to myself and now it feels as though I was to throw up my entire body inside out.
in the midst of gifts i don’t say thank you
there is always something to be angry about
one thing that makes me more and more bitter
it makes me less trusting
it makes me hate more
it makes me feel my failure
i can never get what i want
I wasn’t noticed very often. Not by boys, not by men and not by male family members. I was never the hot one or the confident one or the sexy one but rather the friend of the girl who always had a boyfriend. Year after year, boys and men came into my life via her and I always wished it were me. Why wasn’t there any one coming to watch me dance?
I wish I could lead a normal life. I am like a school girl learning how to deal with her crush because physical touch makes me freak out. Maybe I became that loud, in-your-face, crude drunk so that I was finally something to someone – I was the one with the stories. Maybe I drew my attention from that and not from other things, like being good at something. I continued to do damage to myself that it is a way of life for me. How do I function in society, sober? How will I ever become comfortable with the touch of a man or enjoy sex, without drinking.
Maybe if I had of gained more attention in other, healthier forms, I wouldn’t be as dysfunctional today. Maybe if I were thinner, my self esteem and confidence would be higher thus leaving me to feel comfortable in my own skin and around others. I am a proud big girl, finally, and can appreciate who I am and what I look like but walking around, sitting, sleeping, talking, eating etc while having that reoccurring thought in your head “how do you see me?” is mentally exhausting. I wonder how people see me? Do they look at me and think disgust? I am now in a country that is so diverse that seeing people of all sizes and colours and shapes is the norm. Am I seen less horribly now?
How the fuck do I start to tackle this mountain?
I’m on the brink of giving up my body.
and I’ve been doing
I feel the addiction rising in me. It’s getting stronger and leaves me feeling frustrated.
This is so hard.
This place has swallowed me whole.
My head is bopping in pools of water.
I can’t write anything decent.
I’ll take Xanax and masterbate.