scarred. broken. it is a constant cycle of thinking that you are okay and then the dark thoughts come out and attack you. walking helps. drinking helps for awhile, but then you are alone and you can’t stand it. pills help. music helps. crying helps. the hardest thing i’ve had to do in the last week is tell my best friend that i have had daily thoughts of ending my life for the past month. telling her the dark place i am in helped lift me out of the depths in some ways, but the excruciating pain maims me everyday.
every morning i want to give up. every night i want to give up. but somehow, someway, i get up and i put a fake smile on my face and do what i have to do. i am not happy. i am not content. i do not feel alive, not the slightest. the only time i feel alive is when i want to punch something or scream. he took so much life out of me.
only God knows why i am still here today, because i myself don’t understand it. i wonder when i am going to break, when i am truly going to fall victim to my suffering. when you get to the end of the day and you are still breathing it is both a gift and a curse. to type these words somehow helps me to understand that what i am feeling is not normal, this pain is not normal. what he did to me is not normal. i feel that my life has been taken from me, yet i am still breathing.