…the pain of having lost everything lead to the belief that I've not only lost it, but destroyed it.
Slowly, the thought of never being able to feel "well" cancerously grew over my mind.
I wanted to die so desperately.
Now, living with these thoughts became easier. They're not only thoughts now. These things have long become my only friends. Friends that I hate; friends that hate me. But there is nothing and nobody else around. At least we care. Not for another, but about.
It's easier? Probably just because I don't care anymore — for or about anything else than my dark thoughts.
Life has turned. It has turned from being an unbearable suffering to being utterly pointless. That hurts, too. But this pain is chronic, I learned to live with it.
Every once in a while, I do what I am supposed to do: doing what once caused fun in my life. I became better at forgetting the void my losses have caused. For a brief moment. And then. "Hello again", says one thought. "I'm here again, did you miss me?"
No, I didn't miss it. But after this reminder, the hole my mind falls into becomes deeper and deeper. And darker. But I'm used to it. Living with that became easier.
I always strived for more. Achieving more, enjoying more, aiming higher. Instead, the holes got deeper. Living with it became easier.
When these thoughts came to my life, just after realizing the losses — they were sharp like knifes and they caused pain. Physical pain. Now they are my convictions. They stop my little world from moving forward. They stop me. I wanted to die so desperately. Even if I wouldn't notice, I saw death as a way to stop stabbing myself with the sharp blade of my own convictions. Silence to me seemed so desirable. Now I have silence. Living with that will never be easy. Nor will be dying
Slowly, the thought of never being able to feel "well" cancerously grew over my mind.
I wanted to die so desperately.
Now, living with these thoughts became easier. They're not only thoughts now. These things have long become my only friends. Friends that I hate; friends that hate me. But there is nothing and nobody else around. At least we care. Not for another, but about.
It's easier? Probably just because I don't care anymore — for or about anything else than my dark thoughts.
Life has turned. It has turned from being an unbearable suffering to being utterly pointless. That hurts, too. But this pain is chronic, I learned to live with it.
Every once in a while, I do what I am supposed to do: doing what once caused fun in my life. I became better at forgetting the void my losses have caused. For a brief moment. And then. "Hello again", says one thought. "I'm here again, did you miss me?"
No, I didn't miss it. But after this reminder, the hole my mind falls into becomes deeper and deeper. And darker. But I'm used to it. Living with that became easier.
I always strived for more. Achieving more, enjoying more, aiming higher. Instead, the holes got deeper. Living with it became easier.
When these thoughts came to my life, just after realizing the losses — they were sharp like knifes and they caused pain. Physical pain. Now they are my convictions. They stop my little world from moving forward. They stop me. I wanted to die so desperately. Even if I wouldn't notice, I saw death as a way to stop stabbing myself with the sharp blade of my own convictions. Silence to me seemed so desirable. Now I have silence. Living with that will never be easy. Nor will be dying
