i’m having a hard time; once again, i’m stuck on my own – with these thoughts, with these voices, these struggles, these demons. i don’t know if i’ll be able to go on, i don’t know if i care. i feel like i should, but with exhaustion seeping through these bones, it’s too..difficult?
i don’t know.
there are things i still wanna do, but i’m suffocating. there are only so many hits i can take. what if i’ve finally reached my limit?
will you let me go?
— to others, nothing
but an empty vase
to be filled
with sorrows and
worries, when albeit
i am already brimming
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.
I shared the following already on my art-related instagram (@ notebooksofarts, my personal one being @ othertypist) as well as on my tumblr, however, I feel like it actually also belongs on this blog. Especially because it’s been awhile since I shared anything on here.
Tried painting again, but it didn’t work out. Instead I spent my time stuck in my head, now left with a hand covered in paint and a mind messier than before. So I’ll just share some of my current thoughts:
when I say that living with mental illnesses is a challenge, I’m obviously understating the circumstances. Each step is pure exhaustion, there are days when I can’t get out of bed, when I feel like something is pulling me down (down, down, down — six feet under.) From one moment to the other, it’s impossible to breathe; in the next it’s like I am no longer here. Living with those demons is painful. Right now, I can’t even find the right words to describe them in a way that would satisfy me, but I know that, unfortunately, there are many who know what it’s like. Currently, my BPD is acting up the most, leaving my mood, myself – me – torn apart into pieces. When I’m stuck feeling like this, it’s like my skin got burnt all over, each touch is painful, each slight caress too much. I wish there was a way to really explain what it’s like, to make others understand that there are too many days when I fear people being near me, while at the same time needing them to be there. Days when I am nothing but a fire breathing dragon asking to be held, and above all, days when I have no idea who I actually am.
Nausea, exhaustion, pain. I’m tired of feeling this way, of fighting each day & night these terrible thoughts. I hate this body – not only because it’s disgusting, but because it constantly hurts. What is it like to go through your days without each step, each breath you take, each slight move hurting? I can’t even try to imagine that; it must be soothing.
I am not what you need,
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,
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
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
not for long, not forever. My life’s
curtain is falling
Years of fighting,
still not enough.
Nights spend bleeding,
this life’s tough.
Demons in these minds,
tearing us apart.
People are watching,
thinking it’s art.
Pain’s not fascinating
despite words of charm.
These bruises not pretty,
just hell’s way of harm.
Don’t turn away,
when darkness appears,
these are our lives,
these are our fears.
because inside of me I’m constantly fighting,
against the demons in my head.
While they are grinning,
tears are running down my face.
because their screaming is louder than my
for help; I am trapped, alone.
Poison is running through my veins,
my reflection is distorted.
because the darkness is me, and I am
of tainting you with my touch.
It is only a matter of time
until I have lost my worth.
Torn between too many things, I have no idea who the fuck I even am. BPD is tearing me apart more and more, and I no longer have the energy to fight it. I just want to give up (on fighting, living). My therapist told me on Friday how huge it is that I’ve managed to go to work these past weeks, that I managed to deal with university, that I managed to stay alive somehow despite me being stuck in a severely self-destructive mood. But you know? None of these things seem to matter; they are not enough, and neither am I. Even words are not enough; at least not enough to describe these feelings stuck inside of my bones.
Found the energy to put on make-up and get ready to possibly go out, and then I accidentally broke my mirror. Now I’m too scared, and OCD is feeding upon this like it’s its favourite meal. “What if you go out now, something will happen to x and y. IT WILL BE YOUR FAULT.” “Oh, you think you can get out of this by staying at home? Good joke. SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN. AND IT’S YOUR FAULT. Y O U R FAULT.”
I’m shaking. My heart is racing.
I wish I could end these thoughts. I can’t deal with this. I just can’t.