Three days ago. Tuesday night. I wasn’t in total control of myself. I’ve let the demons talk through me.
5 Tylenol, 5 Bonamine, 5 Cetirizine, 12 Paracetamol, 10 Advil, 3 Escitalopram.
It was a harsh night. I had no one to talk to. I can’t put into words what I wanted to say. I can’t explain myself. I can’t fight these demons that tells me it will be all for nothing.
It starts with one small thought. Telling you you’re not worth it. That it will not work out. That you’re a useless piece of shit and that the only logical solution to end whatever is around you is for you to be gone. It sounds logical, people will have one less problem in the world, because that’s what you are. You feel like a burden to everyone around you, for not being happy enough, for not being good enough, for not being worthy of time, or attention, or affection.
You are so tired of being sad, and empty and tearful, and depressed, and negative, and emotional, and being a burden to everyone. You’re disposable, and like any other disposable things you must be gone and be replaced.
You’re inexplicably tired of having to go through things that tires you out. Of trying to smile and look okay when others are looking, of being strong for very long.
I don’t know how long you can hold it together. What they see is when you’ve broken down, when you have drained all your energy fighting your own thoughts, your own plans of dying, and then when you tried it you failed. All you had next are days of vomiting, of your body trying to get rid of the toxins you intake, of being dizzy and sleepy.
Draining. Drained. All you want is to get some rest.