I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I feel like I can’t breathe, and I’m stuck. I float constantly, like I don’t have control anymore. I’m numb. My body hurts but I can’t feel it, I have become the embodiment of pain. If I do not cut myself, I feel as though I will explode. It is an addiction. I am addicted, but I do not want to stop. The pain stops, like it seeps out within the blood. If I stop, I will die. I want to die, but I don’t want to stop living. Who was I before my illness? What did I like? Dislike? That person scares me.
My problem lies in my lack of strength. I am not strong enough to stop living, but I want to die. I’m convinced there is a difference between the two. I want to stop floating but who will I be without it? What will I be like if I’m okay. That person also scares me, more than who I was.
This isn’t a suicide note. I’m not strong enough to do it. I don’t want to be strong enough, but I do. I am in a constant confusion. What do I really want? Who am I though? Am I me or my illness? I know my illness wants me to die, maybe death is what it needs to stop existing, maybe it doesn’t want to exist, but it is a product of life. Maybe it is looking for escape, so it festers in us and pushes us to do its bidding, until it inevitably finds itself in another host.
I want to sleep. I can’t. I don’t want to sleep. I do. I am a guest in my body, I don’t make the rules. I don’t feel tired, I don’t feel anything, just the painless pain that is me. I find myself writing this with watering eyes and stiff hands, yet I can’t sleep. I desperately want to go lie in my bed and drift away, the only time I don’t have to have to, but my attempt will be futile. It seems like my attempts at everything result in nothing.
I hate being crazy. Being a problem. Black homes don’t recognize mental illness as that. I am not sick, just moody. This doesn’t feel like a mood. Those change, what I feel without feeling Is constant. When my mother says it and threatens to send me back to the hospital, that is all I feel. I am crazy. I belong in an institute. I am crazy, I am psychotic.
don’t listen to the voice. I hear it too. you think you want to give in. but think about everybody. a sibling, a parent, a boyfriend or girlfriend. somebody cares about you, most likely a lot of people. I almost gave in once hanging from a noose. I cut it just in time. every time I hear the voice I remind myself about the people I care about, for even if nobody loves me I love them and don’t want to lose them. don’t give in!