I am losing my voice; my ability to blog is dying. I cannot write as I used to and I feel suffocated and powerless. My soul feels dried up and the words I long to express are blowing as dust into the wind, impossible to save nor catch. I feel lost without my voice. I feel miserable.
I couldn’t have put it better myself:
I am done apologising, hiding the truth and respecting everyone else’s needs, conventions and wishes. My only responsibility is to be true to myself.
I know that I shall never be truly happy – the scars of the past still hurt and tug at my memory with a ferocity that genuinely instills fear. Yet, I can still rejoice – even momentarily – for the clarity these scars have brought to my being: I do not need to apologise for being damaged.
I am the one who is owed an apology. I am the one who deserves to hear “Sorry”.
I’m still alive. And getting stronger. There is so much to say; so much to report, confirm and dissect from my time away from this platform. It shall take time… and courage. But I shall slowly write it all.
I am still alive and in a better place than anyone could have expected. My mind has travelled far from the dark, cold alley which kept leading my thoughts towards suicide. Instead, I am steered towards sunlight and growth – flowers poking through concrete cracks. I used to crawl through my head until my soul shattered like broken bones under the weight of grief and sorrow. Now, I often catch myself skipping lightly through my thoughts. They seem to have their own rhythm and inspire me to dance, laugh and sing.
The soundtrack to my life is at last more than a death knell. I still yearn for death, but I don’t mind living. In fact, sometimes I rather enjoy it.
I am living proof of almost everything stated in the article… all that’s left to prove is early death. I never knew how loneliness really felt until I was backstabbed and betrayed. That was years ago yet I still wake up feeling lonely and go to bed each night feeling isolated and alone.
I am surrounded by people, almost all the time, yet I cannot bond with, nor trust, others after my experience with ‘The Forgiven One’. He was… is… of the Devil. It feels as if he cursed my life. I wish we had never met and I wish I had someone with which to share my world, instead of feeling worthless and alone.
I know that I shall get through it all; that my life shall continue to endure far longer than I could ever wish. It already has. I wish it was all over. In truth, I have been doing my best to sabotage my own resilience. I have gained 15 kilograms since mid-August, forcing my weight higher up the scale of morbid obesity.
I thought I had succeeded in my quest when, during last week, the chest pains I had been experiencing for several days intensified into what felt like a heart attack. At last, my time to pass on had arrived, or so I had thought.
It transpired that I am resilient enough to defeat my own attempt at sabotage; I have Costochondritis – nothing more perilous than inflammation of the rib cage leading to the sternum.
I am still here, albeit with a longer list of ailments and medical issues. I am so angry at myself. I keep failing at everything. I have failed as a human being, lacking everything from worthiness to beauty, from good health to romance. I am not likeable, loveable nor comprehensible. I am just wrong; so very, very wrong. I can’t bear the thought of living. I am exhausted by living a lie. Pretending to be ‘normal’ and happy is debilitating. I just want to rest… forever. I just want to die.
I’m still here. It’s Remembrance Day; I spent this morning tearfully watching today’s memorial service in honour of the fallen soldiers who gave their lives to save the rest of us. I cannot describe how I feel at this moment and how it felt to witness the poignant images on TV earlier today. I felt overwhelmed with deep sorrow.
I spent this afternoon working from home but my mind was all wrong. It felt like a jigsaw and it was missing several pieces. I felt – and I still feel – wrong.
I was humbled by the scenes on TV; the silence to honour the dead, the thousands who lined the streets, many old and infirm, to honour the lives of the selfless soldiers, and the prayers for all our souls.
I feel guilty… guilty yet full of sorrow because my own life still endures and I yearn for death. Why do the selfless get taken too early while the selfish like myself still breathe and carry on? Where is the justice in the scales of life? Where is the judgement against those who shouldn’t exist? I wish I was worthy. I wish I was strong. Yet, I wish for my end with more passion than dread.
My desire is evil; that’s what we’re taught… don’t waste the gift of life, be grateful for every second. My mind is still a jigsaw – a puzzle with lost pieces, begging for completion. I wish I felt whole, worthy and happy. I wish I wasn’t like this and that misery was a stranger. All the dreams I ever had were nothing but phantoms. I thought they were goals but they were just ghosts pretending to be real.
I hope I go to bed and there is no tomorrow. No life. No breath. No consciousness. No afterlife. I hope I die tonight in my sleep of natural causes and never wake up.
I hate myself. I hate my health. I hate the world. And I hate The Forgiven One.
I loathe my history. I don’t want my future. I hate my present. I just want to die because my only desire is to feel nothing. I don’t want to think. I just want… I need… nothing. I ought to be forgotten and I wish I had never been here.