Tag Archives: despair

twenty-four

I’m in a bad place in terms of my mental illnesses. Things have been getting so much worse again and it’s hard to get out of bed, to do the things I need to do. I’m still managing work-related things, but it doesn’t feel like it’s worth much. Arguing with my therapist about that is futile. “Of course, you cannot see it. But I’d say it’s pretty amazing given your circumstances”, is what he keeps telling me. But it doesn’t matter, does it? My best friend told me that I shouldn’t give up, I’m doing so much, putting in a lot of effort in my job & university – “Are you doing all of that just to give up?” I don’t know. No. It’s more of a safety blanket. This way it may seem like everything is okay – “don’t worry, never worry about me, I’m fine, take care of yourself” – but you know, it’s difficult to explain, in a way. And tbh it doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing matters. Day after day I seem to be falling more and more; I have no sense of identify, I can no longer distinguish between my demons and me. I am nothing. I am no one.

Above all, I am tired. It’s been so long. Too long.

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Tonight

Misery is filling the air around me, my lungs inhaling it, slowly, but steadily.

It’s a usual night, quiet, yet not peaceful; dry, yet too warm to be able to breathe easily. As I’m writing these words, darkness has started settling over the horizon, leaving nothing but a pitch black view and an inkling of gloom. If I were to get up, the tiny window would allow me to see my wretched reflection; a mirror of who I am, say others, while a lie is all I can observe.

What is it like to know who you are?

To not constantly question your entire being, to feel like something else but a heart that has been shattered over and over again, a soul that is beyond repair, broken and incomplete — without hope?

I don’t know.

Demons are constantly whispering into my ears, living inside of me, taking up every inch. There’s no more space for “me”, whoever that may be; perhaps there never was.

And even when I try to reach out, to fight, to find myself, peace, sanity, — comfort, there is still nothing to hold on to.

There’s only darkness.

(I am alone. I am no one. I am nothing.)

Perhaps Death would be a kinder companion.


To whom it may concern

I am not what you need,
nothing
but darkness, a mere rain cloud.
Used to be called sunshine,
but even that had to end some time.

I am not what you need,
nothing
but an anchor pulling you down.
Wished I could be an angel, if only
for you, yet this demon cannot fly.

I am not what you need, but my
God,
I wish I was, wish I could be.
Still I fear that as much as I’d love
to be your happiness, I am not.

I am not what you need, but I am
here;
not for long, not forever. My life’s
curtain is falling
finally.


tw: i feel too sad

Overwhelmed with sadness
I find it hard to breathe on.
Each day is coloured by misery
and my mind is too far gone.

If giving up was easier
and meant a lot less pain,
this sharp and ice-cold knife
would have already met my vein.

Yet as it is these scars
are as far as I can go,
to express my darkest despair
about how I feel too low.


m:sery

This head
nothing but a vessel
for misery;
yet infinitely it cannot
be filled.
One day
it’s going to spill over
and burst,
I’m just waiting for when
it’ll get me killed.


(00:12)

Torn, I am standing in front of
the mirror, asking if this is
me.
My eyes are still searching
for the person that I used to
be.
I’m tired of all the fighting,
it’s killing me each day and
night.
I’m starting to believe that
I was just never meant to be
alright.


(tw: 01:07)

Trapped inside a body
I hate, I am drowning.
How am I supposed to
survive, when the surface
is frozen solid? I will never
get out of this sea
of despair. Yet I cannot
stop trying.
I break myself.
Each hit, each cut – it’s
the only way for me to
breathe, to get a break.

Follow @othertypist//


I’m not an artist.

I paint pictures on my body
in black, blue and red.
Permanent reminders
of memories long gone and dead.

This paintbrush in my hand
is all that I really need
And tonight I cannot help
but give in, concede.

I wish my story was
a happy one to tell,
but why should I kid myself?
I’ll always be rotting in hell.


(cut lips)

It’s been almost 10 years. 10 years of suffering. 10 years of fighting a war against myself that I won’t ever get back. The mere sight of that number makes me feel utterly nauseous and I can feel my knees getting weak. These illnesses have invaded and ruined every part of my life and me, and yet I am still expected to be able to look ahead with hope and positive thoughts.

…God.

I still remember the first few years of this misery. How I begged and cried and hoped and tried to get better and yet nothing helped, nothing changed. I just kept getting worse. What if that’s all I’m here for? To get worse and worse and worse?
I’m tired of feeling like I’m choking.
I’m tired of listening to ‘stay strong’s and ‘you can do it’s because quite frankly, I just don’t have the energy anymore.

Hopefulness is a rare feeling inside of me; most of the time I just feel utterly nauseous and miserable and low. The fact that I’m seemingly unable to handle life, my responsibilities and my demons certainly isn’t helpful in that regard either.

Time is not on my side. Not now, not ever. And it’s exactly that fact that keeps me in this sea of pure despair.

Maybe I just need some time off, some time away from everything and everyone to decide what to do, to decide, once and for all, if going on is truly what I desire or if leaving is the best option.


What if?

Every day is a battle, and every day seems to be getting harder and harder to get through. I know it’s because my mood is currently diving all the way down to hell, and I know that there have been days that were easier, that weren’t as bad, but when I spend my nights watching self-destructive memories flash in front of my eyes and my days questioning if I should eat something, if I should get out of bed, if I should continue my life or not, then it’s just a bit difficult to remind myself of the positive aspects of my life and of easier times.

I wish I could tell my mind to just put a sock in it. I wish I could tell it to think about my best friends, my very much beloved boyfriend, about the little things that make me laugh like bad jokes and videos/pictures of kittens and puppies (and all the sweet baby animals out there), but it’s just, unfortunately, not an option all the time. Things that trigger me, even if it’s just the smallest situation, seem to be getting the best of me each time, and it doesn’t matter how often I count from 1 to 10, or how much I try to control my breathing and bite my lips to keep the screaming, the pain inside; I just always seem to be standing on the edge of a cliff, swaying back and forth, threatening to fall.

They say that it gets easier. I agree. It can get easier, it does get easier, but the issue is that out of nowhere it can get horribly worse again, and if you aren’t prepared for that, if you haven’t quite learnt how to fly instead of fall, it just fucking sucks. I want to believe and hope and fight, but my God, currently? Currently I’m hopeless. Currently I’m standing in front of the mirror, hating every inch of this body, wondering how it’s possible that I’m loved. Currently I’m hearing every single voice inside of my head yelling curses at me, hitting me from each side. And my God, they say that fire cannot kill a dragon, yet what if all this time I’ve seen myself as a dragon, I’ve been nothing but a puppet in a cruel play; what if the only purpose I have is to wait till the curtain closes and my puppet masters decide to cut the strings in order to choke me with them? What if, what if, what if?

What if I’m just too tired, too old, too broken to go on?