ugh your dumb face

Surface.

You are empty. You’ve will, am, and been. You feel like you’ve existed far, far too long and you’re tired of it. You’ve probably stopped feeling the pain, it’s been so long. They say the worst part is always being left alone, or just the concept of the situation. But it’s not. The worst part is it takes so, so long to go away that you feel like it never really leaves. You feel like an entire half of you has been ripped out, ridiculed, and made into nothing, and the other half is tainted.

You sit before a mirror and think. You don’t even think about yourself. You think of everything. Sometimes you want to die in front of that mirror. Sometimes you feel like it’s utterly impossible to get people to understand, so the least they could do is understand they don’t. But you don’t need them. You don’t need the mirror. You only need yourself for yourself

You say you are useless. No one likes you, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, right? Even if that were true, even if no one cared, not the gaurdians, not the ‘friends,’ not the family, not the co-workers. Even if no one cared, would you? If you were to care enough for your own life that you would save it, it is defiance. It is strength. It could save you, but it could possibly not.

You have no idea. It is an irregularity. You cannot grasp the concept of the future, of change, of difference, of possibility. You are furious, sorrowful, and you want to express it but you can’t. You feel like there is absolutely no way, nothing to express upon but yourself. The bottle is over a fire, and it is bubbling over. Run. Leave. Use your remaining bits of emotional or physical strength to get out of that situation. Use the part of your brain not reserved for emotion.

Find a new place. Find shelter. Find new people. Find a new life.

When I was suicidal, I felt I had nothing. I was so bitter to the point where I simply didn’t care, even if one person would cry over my death. I was so full of hate, and I was drained to the point where I felt like I couldn’t take it any more. So, in the middle of the night, I sat out on the railing of my deck, staring at the sky as I warred with myself over the reasons, the possibilities, all of the 'what ifs.’ I went back inside with numb thighs that night.

I sat on the edge five more times, bled twice, stared at the pills thrice, and debated just going serial killer and destroying what made my life with me. I didn’t feel like, 'oh, something’s holding me back.’ I did because I was so incredibly bitter to the point I didn’t care enough about my life, whether I should take it or keep it.

Things have changed. I only take as many pills as I need to for my health conditions, razors are strictly for shaving, knives for food, and the deck for a pleasant(ish) view of our back yard. I felt like something was dangling me by a thread, and I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Take your rage. Take your depression. Take your grief. Take your irritation. If that is all you have left, don’t let it ruin you. Use it.  If these are the only emotions you have left, use them to fuel your body. Push forward, no matter how deep the knives slide into you, if you were to end it, it would be a slightly worse result.
And that is on the pure chance that if you were not to end it, nothing would change.

Because things do change. Even If you feel so incredibly alone, even if you feel so empty, things change.