The last few weeks I've spent so many hours pleading with myself to calm, to reach an equilibrium between extreme emotions. Going from irrationally angry to deeply distracted and inconsolable. And every time that she reached out to me, it set me off again.

But I am alone now. More alone then I have ever been. and the world is colourless, devoid of life. I desperately need to feel, to remind myself that I am still breathing, heart still beating. Perhaps that's why I choose to burn myself rather then cut. The sensation of the heat travelling up my arm brings warmth back into my battered body. I don't choose to hurt myself out of some petty hatred, though that might be how it started, I hurt myself so that I can remember what it is to breathe in cool air and not let it leave you choking. See a couple engorge themselves in the company of the other and not wish to scream in frustration and loss.

I still see myself, blade in hand, as I slice down through my arm, as I slide under the water while it runs red with my blood. But do I truly wish that to be the future? Hope, the worst of mankind's emotions, drags me back kicking and screaming. Her damned face haunts my waking moments. But she is no longer mine.

You have no idea how relieved I'd be if I was in an accident. The choice over life and death removed from my hands. To be free of this grey world.

I wonder how many of the same days it took before the character in Groundhog Day tried to kill himself the first time. How many days watching the same events happen again and again before he overcame his fear of the unknown that is buried within the subconsious of us all, and tried to excape to oblivion? Did he have a moment's hesitation while he died? Did he immediately regret his decision? Or was he finally happy to be free? 

When I went to the Psychiatrist last week, I told her that I didn't think I was going to act on my thoughts. I told her that I didn't have a plan to follow through. I told her that I would let someone know, and ask them to keep an eye on me. I lied. The moment I reveal the truth to my family, the persona that I have spent my life building crumbles before my eyes. I will no longer be able to access the freedom that I so desperately crave to have. But with that freedom, comes greater risk to my well being.

I honestly don't know what will happen in the coming weeks. I do hope that I will be told that medication is the way to go. Being told that you need to talk about it just doesn't come naturally to me. I don't have anyone that I can be truly honest with. I thought I did. I was so sure.

Why J, why did that Ginger Prick deserve a second and a third chance, whereas I was dropped without blinking? What is it about me that makes people back track on their thoughts and feelings like that? Am I truly just a rag doll, that people are happy to throw around and abuse, before giving to the dog as a chewtoy?

This week, I told a friend that I wanted to kill myself. Not the first time I have said that, and certainly won't be the last. I see the blood spurting from my forearm as I slide a knife up the length of my arms. I watch as if from above as the life drains out of me. I see all the people that would be floored by it. One person in particular stands out in the grey crowd, her hair the blazing sun cutting through the grey colour of grief. And her look of betrayal and hopelessness used to keep me going.

But how can I keep going when she spurns and taunts me with her sobs and soothing words of love? When she dances close enough for me to breathe in the perfume of her life and let it keep me from the brink before dancing away from me?

My head is once more filled with the screams and moans of my mind. The anger that I can never reveal for fear of losing more. The mourning for the blood spilt in the name of love. The pull of the void that lovingly caresses, so inviting, so familiar.

JT. Getting over you is the hardest thing I'll ever do. Please forgive me when I fail.

18/05/2015

Self reflection is a funny thing. You think you know yourself inside and out, but suddenly you can learn something terrifying out of nowhere that completely floors you.

I really don't have anyone that I'm happy to just talk to. Everything is an effort, which I would not be willing to make without College. This last week, having ended exams early due to a couple reasons I'm not going to start into, I've seen how I went from a relatively sociable person, to a gremlin, hiding away in his room, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. This week, I've blitzed through two animes, brought myself up to date with Arrow (I was a good two seasons behind), and have rarely gotten dressed, aside from the occasions where I needed to leave the house.

It's not that I don't want to be sociable, its almost as if I don't know how to. I've missed out on making those personal connections my counsellor tells me I'm obsessed with.The true, good friends I thought I had have either drifted away in other directions, or turned around and slapped me in the face with a sudden change in demeanour towards me. And now, I don't know how to interact in a way with people that won't cause this to happen again.

This "obsession" has cost me two good relationships. I'm not able to take another person telling me that "they don't actually like me as much as they originally thought they did", but I'm so desperately alone, I just collapse on the next person to show the slightest interest in me, and the cycle continues.

My mind goes to a dark place sometimes. There are days where I'm not the definition of a healthy young adult, but I can cope with it all. And then there are others where I consider alternatives to coping. Look at me. Writing a fucking blog post that no one reads, let alone people I know, and I can't just say it. I often have thoughts about ending my life. Not in the "take a few pills to spite Mum" kinda way, I spend hours agonizing over what would be the fastest and easiest way to do it. I can tell you why it is you should slit your wrists lengthways rather than just straight across. I can tell you that pills can take you hours to die.

One of the few things that keeps me going is the fear that by ending my life in this way, I might cause my siblings to experience similar emotions. But there's this fear in me that one day, this weight will be so unbearable that I'll act without thinking. I'm not afraid of death, I'm worried about the effect it'll have on those close to me, if you can really call them close. A few acquaintances are privy to some of my mumblings, but no one really knows the full extent of the rot that has infected me. And while many have expressed their willingness to listen, I still can't bring myself to fill them in. I would prefer to forget about that dark place, to pretend that it doesn't exist for an hour or two, only to be pulled back into its clutches when I am once again alone.

Writing this is a little helpful. I might try to update more often.