Feeling
sick
I
wake up sick some days, and it’s unpleasant. And I stay sick through the day
even though I fight it. This disease creeps in and it’s gotten pretty bad. I am
a recipe for disaster. My brain looks for a way out by creating a diversion, by
making too big a mess most of the time.
Today’s
a day for hurting myself, which proves that my sickness is far from over. The
purpose is to feel numb, to feel as bad on the outside as I do on the inside.
To make the symptoms stop. It works for a brief moment, then it’s on again. It
chases me and runs me to the ground. Don’t get me wrong, I fight it… but I’m
not enough I guess. Not even for my own disease. It’s stronger than me, it
dictates my behavior, my mood, my line of thinking. I feel lousy, and there’s
not much to do.
I
hide from others, God, I’m a master at that. No one can tell how I feel unless
I tell them. That’s both good and bad. It keeps them from helping me, but it
keeps me from getting help.
This
pain saddens me. Memories of what’s been wrong for so many years, adding to
present trouble, mortify me. I keep trying to separate past and present, so I
can see an actual future. But I fail. I fail miserably at keeping myself
together. I fake my way through everyday life, just hoping that one day all my
mental problems will just fade away. But it’s not meant to be like that. It’s
not that simple.
I
have to figure out a way. It’s becoming somewhat redundant to beat around the
bush with this. I don’t do much else but complain about what aches me, instead
of finding a solution. I feel so lost within myself, like I’ve fallen deeper
into this bottomless pit of confusion and hatred.
Being
constantly sick and unsupervised isn’t a good thing. Having the kind of
“freedom” to take matters into your own hands, to pick up a knife when no one’s
looking, is that thought that scares and saddens my frail self.
Maybe
it’s meant to be this way. I wouldn’t recognise the truth if it hit me like a
ton of bricks. I’m in too deep, so I’m not able to see the light just yet.
