My mind stopped spinning. My body stopped crying.

Everything just stopped.

The silence is louder than a loaded gun, as James Durbin would say.
The absence of pain is more torturous in the long run.

It’s as if the tornado of thoughts, the whirlwind of panic and fear, the blizzard of confusion, everything just got trapped somewhere.

When you sit down for an exam you’ve studied for endless hours for and your mind goes blank…it doesn’t matter how hard you try or the fact that you know the information is somewhere just beyond the wall, you can’t get to it. That’s what this feels like. My emotions, my thoughts, my pain is just beyond the rainbow but it doesn’t matter how hard I try to force myself to feel, to think, because it’s simply out of my reach.

The calmness should terrify me.
The absence should worry me.

But, in reality, I’m used to this. I’m used to shutting my emotions off when my mind can’t comprehend or handle what I feel. I’m used to pretending to be brave and strong to take someone else under my wing. I’m used to having happiness getting stroke down with a brick wall being slammed into my face.

But somewhere in between the panic and the pain, my body stopped comprehending the world around it. It’s like dumping two pounds of flour onto a cup size funnel and expecting it to work out. You get the flush of ingredients when you initially dump the flour over but it will soon get stuck and it will quickly overflow the system. And leaving it there won’t change anything.

Time won’t change anything if all you do is stare.

Funnel

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Lost and UnFound

Lost and UnFound

I remember that night like it was yesterday.
It’s been years yet I still can’t shake the feelings that come with the memory.

One more night of her being vacant for the day, and then for the night. One more day of a wine glass sitting at the tensely silent dinner table. One more day I was prepared for yelling and screaming matches. But, that day didn’t turn out as anyone would’ve thought.

Drunk. He didn’t recognize me.
In pain. His cries echoed through the night.
Crying. He mumbled phrases as the EMTs arrived.
Panicking. I ran, getting yelled at, to gather his things.
Crying. I thought I would lose him that night.
Delusional, right?

After what felt like days, he finally went to bed probably still mumbling curse words in pain. I couldn’t bring myself to get up from the corner I had been hiding in, sobbing with pain. I picked up my phone and called my best friend at the time. I called him, again, and again, and again. After the tenth time, my phone fell out of my hand as I curled up in a ball and shook with fear.

Why didn’t he answer? He knows how much I need him.
Where was he? I needed him to be there for me, especially now.
Why does it hurt so much? …the hundreds needles of pain each time I breathed.
Where was everyone? I sweared to myself that I was not alone, but I was.
Broken. into the millions of pieces of myself I was still trying to save.

After getting to my bed, I called again…and again…and again. Soon I fell asleep, tears falling from these cheeks. Curled up in a ball, it felt like the coldest winter night in a storm of sharp ice swirling around me.

And, somewhere in that night, a piece of myself was lost…
Never to be found again.

Calling

Sometimes I know my worth.

Sometimes I have the guts to get up and say “I deserve better”. Sometimes I have the courage to simply walk away from something that is hurting me. Sometimes I have it in me to believe in myself and everything that I am.

After all, I’ve learned from the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve taken a lesson of some kind from the problems I’ve caused in the past. I also am a changed person. I’m not who I used to be. There are still things that haunt me, that I look back to, or that I let bother me even today. There are things I haven’t fully dealt with, and things I need to face. But…in the end, what other people think of me shouldn’t change how I see myself, my past doesn’t write my future, and I have the choice to write my present and my future in anyway that I wish.

But sometimes I don’t know…

Sometimes I let the negative memories cloud my mind. Sometimes I let myself isolate from the world and trap myself in a dark and cold place of mind. Sometimes I get hopeless and feel lost, as if I don’t know who I am.

I start to hear the voices come back and I remember all the things that have been said to and about me. I start to remember all the stupid decisions I made when I was younger and start to regret everything that I’ve ever done. I start to slip and feel as if I’m a waste of space.

When I know my worth, not much can break me. I can get overwhelmed. I can get stressed. I can deal with something where I’m in over my head. I can be so, so strong and confident. But when I don’t know, everything breaks me. My brain suddenly connects everything back to a horrible memory or a scarring feeling from the past. Suddenly, everything seems to be working against me even when I’m actually getting a lot of work done. Suddenly, I feel alone and unwanted and I get trapped there.

I could vaguely remember how it felt to be confident and strong, but I wouldn’t be able to remember how to get myself back there.

Break Through

Break Through

She can’t avoid admitting she’s slipping back into the darkness, but her heart knows it’s a little bit more complex than that. Her mind wonders, her heart seeks to find…something, someone, she will never know until it is found. Maybe it’s someone to care, maybe it’s someone to repair her, maybe it’s…simply a piece of her she had thought she had lost forever.

She knows she needs to look not around but deep inside her for the answers she yearns for. The longer she stays in the empty woods, the more piercing the cold wind seems to be. The little blows at the leaves scar her flesh; the gushes of wind knock the air out of her lungs; the heavy downpour completely disables her. She spends more time trying to recover, more time trying to survive the brutal cuts, more time trying to remain sane than attempting to bathe in the sunlight that shines above the clouds.

She looks up, through the frost and the mist, through the thick leaves and little creatures, through the rain clouds that storm onward, and she prays. She asks, what is the point in all of this because she has yet to understand. She has yet to read the book of knowledge and learn the truth.

She has yet to break through from the flames as the warrior she has always been.

May 17: South

May 17: South

Where am I to go?

There is a path that stands before me. There are many paths that start from where I am. There are many paths that branched off a little back. Is it too late to go back? Should I walk forward?

You can’t erase the past but you can make it right. That’s what I’ve been told. You can’t take back what had been done but you can fix it to make it correct.

Sometimes anyways…

Was it too late to go back? During the past four years, there are things I am not very proud of. During the past four years, there are things I wish I could take back. During the past four years, there are actions I had taken that still haunt me today.

Is it too late to go back and fix things? Make them “right” again?

For some things, the answer to this question is “yes”. I wish it were not, but it is true. This is how things are. This is what I made happen.

The person who lived through my eyes four years ago isn’t the same person who stares back at me in the mirror today. The person who did all those things had been locked up into the deepest corner of my heart and mind, but she yearns to escape and waits for the day in which she will get her way.

I fear that day. I fear myself, in a way.

I know what I am capable of. I know what I can do, what she can do, what she had done.

And there is no way for me to take back her actions or “make them right”.

From where I stand right now, I look back at the paths I could’ve taken and imagine what I would’ve found among those roads. Things would have been different if I had chosen to walk a different route. I would be different from the person I am now.

But I can’t change that. I can’t walk backwards. I can’t go back south and change my decision to walk this way.

There is a future ahead of me…but darkness is all I see. For the things she had done and the things I can never forgive myself for, I see the future ahead does not consist of a light in the dark.

But I still have hope. Maybe I can’t forgive myself yet, maybe I can’t escape from my past, but I can keep walking forward. I can choose correctly now and do something right.

Maybe…just maybe…I’ll even find that light in the dark.

If I’m patient enough, if I’m strong enough, if I’m worthy enough, I won’t need to go back to my past and change everything that I had done.

South

Fighting Myself

Fighting Myself

A story. The person whose point of view it is written in may not be disclosed. 

It felt like I was losing everyone around me. Everyone was always busy. No one had time for me. I felt as alone as ever. But I knew, because I’ve dealt with depression before, I only felt worse and worse because I was giving into the darkness. I knew there was hope somewhere if I looked in the right place, but whether I wanted to, whether I had the strength to anymore, was another story. I felt useless; I felt betrayed; I felt abandoned; I felt like I was a waste of space.

I knew I needed help. I needed to let my friends help me, since going to get professional help was out of the question. My parents…let’s just say they never thought mental illnesses were real. I knew I needed to let my friends help, but…since they were all so busy and things were…”complicated” to say the least, the people I went to didn’t try to help me. They’ve seen me get through it before. They believed I would be okay in the end. So maybe they thought I could get through it without them. They pushed me off to someone else and from there I got shoved elsewhere, like a dirtbag no one wanted.

That only added to my slipping into depression. I started cutting again. I had been clean of cutting for two years. I slipped a few months before but that was only one. But this time, it wasn’t. I slipped and I got addicted. The pain, it was something I could control. I couldn’t control my best friend leaving me. I couldn’t control the physical pain of my body dying from an unknown illness. I couldn’t control whether my parents got along or not. I couldn’t control whether I had enough time to get all my work done or not. I couldn’t control anything in my life, but I could control the little pain I got from cutting.

One cut, two cut, three, four, five. Soon I was up to ten, fifteen, twenty. There were so many I couldn’t keep track off. Some times I would wait for the few I done before to heal, at least half way, but other times I would cut seven lines on my body without an hour in separation. I lost blood, but it felt as if I was already losing a battle with my own body. Something was killing me from the inside out, something unknown, something…my parents ignored it. Their daughter was dying in front of their eyes, coughing up blood, fainting, and more, but all they thought of it was that she was trying to get attention and she was making it all up.

Of course they would. I learned to add them to list of people who didn’t care about me at a very young age. That’s why I never talked to them about anything. But, faced with depression once again, I needed to talk to someone. I reached out to my best friend. Nothing. I reached out to another close friend. They didn’t know how to help. I reached out to my teacher. I couldn’t get the right words out. Nothing. I reached out, but everywhere I reached I seemed to be grabbing at air. Nothing was ever there.

After a while, I gave up. I didn’t know who to turn to. I didn’t know where to go. I was a lost puppy in the middle of an ocean, just waiting to die.

I stayed in that darkness for several weeks. I went to classes either as an emotional wreck, or an emotionless zombie (two polar opposite sides of me that would normally work together to balance me out). Everyone knew, even people who didn’t know me very well; everyone knew something was wrong. But, still, no one spoke. No one reached out to me. No one tried to help.

Some of my teachers gave me an easy time in class, which I am very, very grateful for during such a rough time. Others didn’t care. Some of my classmates tried here and there to make me smile, which I am also grateful for. Others laughed. I guess there are many types of people in this world…but no matter which ones I met, no one had the courage to do something to make a difference.

Having lost faith in the people around me, I started to give up on myself. I didn’t believe I’d get better this time around. I didn’t see a route I could take to step back into the light anymore. I didn’t think I would ever feel whole again or feel okay again.

Then…when I hit my lowest point I ever reached, something happened. I looked not around me, not to the people surrounding me, but inside me for help. I looked to myself. I asked myself, are you really going to live like this for the rest of your life? And if you think ending your life is the easiest path to end the pain, are you really willing to give up everything else you love about life?

In those couple weeks, I realized that…I didn’t need anyone else’s help more than I needed my own. I needed to really want to get better, in order to start healing. I needed to stop being so hard on myself for being depressed and for struggling. I needed to give myself a chance to stand back up instead of pushing myself down every other second. I needed to help myself before anyone could help me.

This story doesn’t end here. That’s because this story is happening right now. It’s May 2, 2016 and I am fighting myself to help myself.

April 28: Solitude

April 28: Solitude

The silence around me, the emptiness, and the calmness of every thing in being alone calms me yet is sometimes dangerous to me. Sometimes the experience is torturous – being trapped in silence, in an empty room, with nothing but myself and my dark thoughts – but other times it recharges my energy and allows me to recollect myself from the harshness of life.

When I am alone, I am allowed to do anything I please. I am given the opportunity to deal with a lot of things that I would not be able to when I am around company. There are times that being along makes me more productive, calm, and at ease. In solitude, I do not have to worry about keeping someone else company, someone else’s needs, or what someone else would think of me. In a way, being along comes with a certain feeling of being free.

When I am around people, with most people, I have my guard up. I am observative to make sure everyone’s needs are being met. I study people and watch others. I worry more about what it is that I am doing and how that gets seen by those around me. I almost lose my ability to relax completely due to the fact that I constantly have eyes on me. Sometimes this is a good thing – like when I am slipping into the dark side – but other times it feels suffocating.

That is when I wish to be alone, when I feel suffocated around others. But being alone, to me, can also be very dangerous if I am in the wrong state of mind. Like I said before, the experience could be torturous if I am to be trapped in silence, in am empty room, by myself with nothing but my dark thoughts. That is when I start to slip. The silence amplifies my dark thoughts and causes me to give in to the negative emotions of sadness, doubt, fear, and frustration. Sometimes it amplifies enough to the point of hatred, panic, and life-threatening depression.

Being alone, just like a lot of other things, has its benefits and its harms. There has to be a balance of both.

Solitude