Never is a long time, it’s as close as forever is far away and it feels equally as hopeless. It is a crossed over line in the black and white abyss of thoughts that circles around our loose attempt to cling to life a little longer.
But the truth is that it’s not going to get better, not soon, not even one day in the distant future, never.
I know for a fact it can’t, because it’s not an authentic life.
It’s not authentic to me, or to us. It’s not created from finding joy and lessons in experiences, it is instead an elaborate facade built on assumptions and attempts to diffuse fallout and hide from judgement, we share an identity built and fragmented from fear, but nobody sees what is actually real, not even us.
A lot of us want to give up right now, I don’t know, maybe we are depressed again. It’s difficult to tell what is a genuine mood from the bipolar and what is a trauma response from one or a few parts of us.
On days like this one when guilt no longer feels like enough of a tether to this earthly realm, It’s hard to remember exactly what it is we’re fighting for, I’m not sure what I ever was fighting for; I’m not sure any of us have really known.
We put one foot in front of the other because we feel as though we have to, as though the choice has been taken from us and yet in reality any one of us can choose to stop at any time. We can choose freedom.
There’s nothing here for me and I don’t want to find anything, I don’t want to look for anything and I don’t even want to want to try anymore.
None of the reasons for staying are for me, none of them are because I want something that is here, or might one day. All our reasons for staying are all simply out of fear of the consequences for others if we choose to leave.
There’s not a whole lot of point asking for help when there’s no help that could be suitable or practical or even desired. If I had all the money in the world right now I’d use it to peacefully end my life and make the aftermath as clean and easy as possible for those left behind.
I have always just been a place holder in this life and yet for what I’m not entirely certain, I live in a holding cell dressed up as a human being within this so called ‘real’ world, but it’s not mine to occupy, I just stay here for some unknown reason pretending that it is, hoping that it’s rightful owner will walk through the door at any moment and take the burdens of a million wrong choices away from me.
I don’t have the stamina to continue doing this.
I don’t want the strength to keep going, what is the point? Why continue fighting for a cause you don’t understand nor care about?
Why should we fight so hard, why should we get bruised and bloodied and live in a world of intolerable pain for such long forgotten reasons?
I find peace in dreams of dying, in those dreams where I learn that I will soon be freed from all responsibilities to others and to myself. I yearn for external causes of my demise that are beyond my control to try and ease my guilt for hurting others and my shame for desperately seeking death despite them.
M asks me what she can do to help us and I can’t answer her because there’s nothing she or anyone can do. I am the only person who can save me from my part of ourself and right now I don’t want to be saved, I don’t even want to try. I am so tired. Too tired.
All I can do is write my secrets here, say these things I dare not utter out loud because I feel so strangely safe in my oh so painfully public yet beautifully private domain. I can speak my thoughts and own my authenticity here, it’s the only place I have that lets me breath my truth and unclutter my mind without causing pain, without preaching false hope and leaving me to bleed out slowly through consequences.
This blog is the my sanctuary of healing, it can’t save my life and I wouldn’t want it to try, that’s never been the point, but somehow it makes me feel a little better each time I come here, just enough to maybe help me get through the next moment, day or even week.