My heart sinks to a new low as I read the text message that says “I’ve had a heart-attack.” Another friend found out she has ovarian cancer. I am surrounded again by loved ones sick and dying. I feel stuck. I feel lost in a dark scary world with minimal light, just enough light to see where you are walking. Nothing else to do but walk aimlessly in circles contemplating whether it is goodbye for me or for them. I am sick of losing the ones I love. Lost. Depressed. Anguished. Stressed. All words that describe, describe in some sense that need to be numb.
Yes, I said it. Numb. I’m sick of “feeling” and having my heart rent in two over and over. Tears make me feel useless and abandoned. That is a good word. Abandoned. That is exactly what I feel right now. My world was spinning in a balanced direction and now with a new medication dosage and all these saddening things, anguish seems to be a perfect word.
Back to being numb. The razor came back and so did the alcohol. My weight, a constant reminder of failure and lack of control. I miss the control, so I am taking it back. My intake is low and my physicality increasing by the hour. I just want my life back, the one before he took my heart. The life I had before him, before the mistakes and the regrets. I had such a good life and I ruined it. I love him and I always and forever will but I need to be stronger. I need to have my foot down and my heart set. People around have seen the devastation bipolar and lack of medications does to a person. Up, up and away, then straight drop crashing on the floor. Institutionalize her for the sake of this mess but I refused. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and have kept plugging along. Being strong in the face of everything has left me empty. Tonight my wrist is bandaged and my alcohol is almost finished. It is time for bed for my eyes are becoming heavy.
Three new marks that I hope never fade. I want a physical reminder of the pain I overcame. I want more than three marks. I had to stop because my mother returned home and I ran too big a risk of being found. My body is begging me to go to the kitchen and grab the sharps and continue where I left off. I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to feel anymore. I do not want this emotional pain. Please understand, this is mine, I feel safer with sharps than with family and friends. The blade does not judge or criticize. It just does its job, to make me feel better. Physical pain is much more bearable than the emotional pain that brings tears every second I am alone.
Just let me have the blade. I promise not to go too deep or have too many. Just a few more so that I may sleep. My body is exhausted. I am ready to quit. I am ready to walk away from school, it has become very stressful and I am having the worst go at it than I have since hospital. I am just done, stick that proverbial fork in me, I know I am at the right temperature. The oven just dinged. You can take me out now.