Update to last post

I know it looks bad when I post these dire despair posts about my extreme sadness and or thoughts of suicide but my inspiration comes from my extreme emotion. My voice lies in my experience. I am who I've been. I know sadness. And because I am not the most stable sandwich in the basket, my any given experience can go from one extreme to the next. I often find my mighty pen when I'm in a low so below sea level, I'm drowning. But honestly,  I taking the time to write this even without the emotion to back up my creativity because my public needs to know that in this given moment, I am not the same person who wrote "hurt", the post a few days ago. That was one moment however many million seconds ago when I was not my best version and I had succumbed to my own self doubt. But feel safe in knowing that I am a talker not a walker. I could never take my own life because of my past and how it has helped to shape me. I cannot go into too many details without revealing more than I care to, but there was a time when I was ready to take that walk. Thankfully I had an epiphany and was shown the error in my selfish perspective. An epiphany that has kept me safe all these years later. So while you might read my post and think, man, we need to institutionalize this one... take a step back to think that maybe it's very therapeutic for me to share my insides with the outsides, even if it scares you. What scares you, frees me. Think before you act.

HURT

Today I woke up sad. Sad that I didn't believe in God and yet, I prayed for a miracle. I prayed that I would just sleep forever. Waking up is so hard. Too hard. The loneliness has crept in so deep that it's choking my very soul. Crying has become my new normal. Stuck in this perpetual moment of heartbreak and even after the rain has cleared, I sit with no rainbows. No sunshine. No butterflies or even puppy dogs. I cry until my eyes hurt and my chest feels like it will explode. I youtube videos on self affirming yourself out of a panic attack. I lie, out loud, because it feels more true when my ears can hear it. Everything is ok. Everything is not ok. You will get through this. You're caving into your own self deprecating mountains of failure. Why me? Why was I born? Why am I still here? Why won't you take me! I hate God. I hate that I'm this walking oxymoron that can't do anything right. I don't want to live but I can't kill myself. So I try to take deep breathes until my chest aches a little less; and then I pray. Mortals. We don't believe in magic but we hope our spells will work anyway. Is that why I'm still alive. I don't believe in god, but I wish he'd step up anyway? I find myself lingering at work. Things I could do tomorrow, I do them now. I've always been a procrastinatorr and suddenly, I'm Johnny on the spot. Anything to keep me from going home. I'll work for free, but please don't make me go home. Please. Silence. No one can hear my prayers. No one cares. Maybe this oxymoron is tired. Maybe it's time. You cut vertical. It only hurts for a moment. And then you never have to hurt again. What lesson am I learning. Isn't 30 years enough. Is it all in my head. Am I really sick and just unmediated or am I lazy, inconsiderate, good for nothing... I'm 6 years old again. Sitting in a box. It's black. Pitch black. I'm locked inside. I was bad again. I don't understand. I never understand. Other children don't feel this. I think we'd all have said something by now. It's just me. The odd one out. No one likes me. No one wants me around. I'm 6. And my mother says to me, how she has to love me but that doesn't mean she likes me. Bad girls look down. I watch my feet as the years go by. I'm 15. My mom asks, why do I look at my feet all the time? I respond, bad girls look down. I'm 25 and I realize, I'm still watching my feet. People I know, pass me. I have no idea. It's me and my feet. That's all I can see. I'm now 30, writing this and thinking about those god damn feet. I'm so broken. Unmarried and let's face it, not in any relationship longer than a few months. Or even what anyone would have ever considered healthy. Friends. What are those. I abandoned my cat. Now I live off my mother and her husband. Lucky I'm not holding a sign on a street corner but praying every night that I have a heart attack or just stop breathing. Fragile humans and it feels like I'm immortal. What is this! The tears have stopped. I feel less suicidal but just as lonely. I have no one. My mom isn't talking to me. Patrick isn't talking to me. I broke their TV. Because that's the type of person I am. Bad girls look down. Fuck. How much more can someone cry? I feel so weak and stupid and everything else I know I'm not supposed to feel. It hurts. Everything. From my toes to the top of my head. When will it end. How much longer until my karma sentence is up. Bad girls look down. Everything is not ok.