Run away....

It's cold and it's dark, but at the moment it really doesn't matter. 

Than again it hasn't mattered in a while. 

You stopped caring after your hope kept getting smashed to pieces. Each time you had a good day something knocked you down then kept you there. You thought it would get better, but it's only made you feel worse. 

You keep distancing yourself from everyone, playing a game with your outside emotions. Meanwhile inside all you feel is numbness.

It burns unlike the penetrating cold that greets you at night. It burns a hollowed hole inside you, reopening what was once sown shut. 

You can't ask anyone to fix it, not this time, not when you have to keep everything pleasant on the outside. You're so tired of keeping the peace, it's barely been two months, but all you want to do is run away from everything. 

Your soothing balm is out of reach. It's your own fault pushing him away, upsetting him, doing everything wrong. 

You always do everything wrong. 

While at home you tread carefully trying to keep a delicate balance. In your mind your trying to run from real life, looking for an escape. 

It's becoming difficult to cope. 

It's becoming harder to breath. 

It's becoming impossible to sleep. 

I want to run away from everything. I want to avoid everyone until 

I feel better again. Will I ever feel better again? 

All I know is that it hurts, right in the center of my chest where I feel a hole slowly searing itself into my soul. 

I'm a traitor and a coward. 

I just want to run away, break it off with everyone and never be seen again. That'd be stupid, wouldn't it? It still doesn't keep me 

from thinking about it though.

You should break up with me

You should break up with me.

    It's something I say to Aster at least once a month. We've been together for over three years now. It's both of ours first long and serious relationship, so I can't help but feel guilty in some way.
    We're both bi, we went to high school together, were in the same class. We started dating after high school and we've been together ever since. For the longest time now I've felt like we've been stuck in this weird limbo of wanting to take the next step but being unable to. So we just sit in this void.
    It's what makes me say 'you should break up with me.' It's not the only thing, still I think I say it too much. Especially recently, where I've been saying it almost once a week. He always gives the same answer when I say this, rolls his eyes and pretends to be annoyed. I'm glad he puts up with my bullshit, but I'm also scared that one day he will just say 'ok.'
    It's a day I'm expecting, because no matter how many times he says 'I'm in it for the long run' I will never believe him. Still if and or when the day comes that you finally agree to my absurd request then I want to have something to show you how I feel for you after three years of being together.

How could I prove to you that I love you?

I can't, not really.

Romantic gestures seem to elude me. Poetry, songs and chocolates always seem too cliche.

There is little I can do to prove my love for you.

I'm bad at expressing myself in your native tongue and I know I can't just say kocham cię.

So instead I'm writing it down here, where only I can read it. Because as always I can never be straightforward with you.

So how do I 'prove' my love to you?

    It's normal for me to feel sad. It's strange if I don't feel sad at least once a week. The sadness steams from a past I try to ignore, a future I pretend doesn't exist and a present I seem to constantly be struggling with. It creeps up on me during my day to day life, while I'm just trying to get by. Even when it's there I tend to be used to it.
    I'm used to being sad, feeling empty, putting on a mask and pretending every thing's okay. Sometimes though I have moments where I want everything to stop, suddenly right then and there. All it would take is a deep cut, an 'accidental' fall, a sudden sharp turn, it would be so easy and it can be very tempting. What keeps me from embracing the empty void that regularly calls me in my sleep?

You.

Because as long as we're together I would never be able to forgive myself for inflicting that kind of pain in you.

    I'm sorry it's not something more magical and flowery, but I'm not particularly good at that kind of thing. I apologize as if you'll see this. Maybe one day years after we've broken up you'll find this. If so, than Hello future Aster, I hope life has been treating you well and that you remember our time together at least somewhat pleasant.

    I apologize for the boring post, I seem to be having trouble writing much of anything recently. I'm gonna try to force myself to change that.

Constant Conflict

    You fall for what is most likely the millionth time in an endless amount of time. You don't know how long you've been here. How long you've been fighting to move forward, to reach whatever is on the other side. You don't know. You just focus on the end goal, whatever that may be.
    So you struggle to slowly drag one of your hands from your sides, the better one. This one is only covered in bruises, speckled across your skin like sprinkles on ice cream. All of them different shades of purple and blue. After many grunts and lots of effort your arm is near your face, so now you work with your other more broken hand.
    This one is covered in lacerations, varying in length, but all slowly leaking blood. You're pretty sure your pinky finger is broken on this hand as well, so you try not to move it.Still the pain overwhelms you, forces you to grit your teeth, until both hands are near your head. Now the tough part begins.
    You put both your palms on the floor and try to slowly lift yourself from the ground. It's a painstakingly slow process and you bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming. Two broken ribs and plenty of bruises and cuts go a long way to add to your pain. Still you manage to get on all fours, where you hang your head and try to take as many shallow breaths as possible. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on breathing not on the pain.
    Now comes the most difficult part. You steady yourself, take in a single breath before you quickly and very painfully stand. The motion is simple but you scream your lungs out as soon as your standing. Your legs shake as they hold you up, battered and bruised in there own right. Still your standing again, that's all that really matters now you just have to keep moving. As you take your first slow step forward a voice calls out from the front.

Why are you doing this?

    You look up to see yourself looking bask at you, except this you is healed, only the scars tell the tale that you yourself are living in now. Still you don't understand, so you cock your head to the side in confusion.


Why are you putting yourself through this much pain?

    You look at yourself confused. Why wouldn't I? I have to move forward keep going.

But Why!? What's even the point!? Why continue to suffer? Continue to be in pain for a future that you are unsure of, don't know of?

    You smile at the shadow before you, before taking another step forward. Because if I stop here, if I just give up than I will have nothing else left. You take another step until you're right in front of your shadow. You pat their shoulder in comfort. It's okay as long as I keep trying. You walk passed them ignoring the pain coming from every pore in your body. It doesn't matter. None of it matters just keep moving...
    You don't even finish your thought before you feel a strong pain against the back of your knees and your falling to the floor. You let out another scream as you feel something in one of your legs crack. Just breath. You hear your shadowing walking to you and you lift your head to see it standing before you.

See this is what your dealing with! You're just going to keep rising and falling and raising and falling over and over again until there's nothing left of you. Stop this nonsense and just give up!

    I can't though. You say as you slowly start to position your arms to stand once again. I have to keep moving forward. Even if it's at a snails pace I have to move. The shadow growls before it leaves your line of sight, but you feel it run away then turn and run back, straight towards you. You try to stand or roll over but your in so much pain that you can't move. The shadow lands right on your legs and you let out an ear piercing scream, both of them are broken in some way and you know you can't stand again.
    Now you have to stop the shadow screams at you. Your so broken you can't even walk! For some reason you don't feel despair, instead you bring your arms forward and start to drag yourself, continuing on the path at a slower pace. 
    When the shadow notices, it isn't happy. It sits on your back forcing you to hold in your pained moans while it shouts again. Stop! Stop this pointless nonsense! Whats even the point? 

The point? Why there really isn't a point to all of this pain or struggling I'm just doing it.

But why? Why go through all this pain for nothing? Why suffer in silence like this?

    I really don't know. I just know that I have to because if I stop suffering, stop trying, even if it just gets harder and I have to keep restarting or my progress is small or slow, well at least it's something. This, well this is life. It has no purpose or value. It's something everybody goes through or does. And despite my wounds, my thoughts, my outlook on life. I'm not ready to die yet. We aren't ready to die yet. That's why I keep moving forward. What more do you want?
    You aren't sure when it happened but at one point you stopped looking up and were instead looking down at a bruised and battered looking self preaching about living when you're not really sure if you want to live. You look down at yourself, scarred and without a heart or soul.
    The one standing is dead on the inside while the one with all the passion for life, the heart is struggling to move on the floor. This is who I am. Two halves that are in constant conflict with each other.

Private Moment

    It was a night where I decided that I needed answers. All these questions in my head had piled up over the weeks, while my brain struggled with stress from school. I was tired of feeling the way I was feeling with him so I finally asked.
    Talking was done, my mind calmed and we curled into each other. For the first time in a while we started to become intimate. We took our time. Slowly stroking each others bodies. First the arms then the chest, a use of nails here a little twist or flick there. It was soothing and calming with long kisses in between. At one point he held my left hand, softly stroking the skin while we kissed.
    It was then that he pulled back and asked 'What happened to your hand.' I immediately pulled my hand away from his and said 'It's nothing, don't worry about it.' Hoping he wouldn't remember the conversation we had a few weeks ago where I asked for a favor, thus revealing why I wear a fingerless glove.
    He remember though, really how could he forget. 'Why,' he says pulling back and looking at me. I just curl  up next him, one arm slung over his torso and say 'You have to be specific or I won't answer your question.' I don't know why I said this, why I made him state it. Maybe hoping that he wouldn't be thinking what I was thinking, but he was. He knew after all.
    So he asks 'Why did you do that to yourself?' I want to lie, say it's just a weird cut, no self-mutilation here, but I couldn't. We've been together for three whole fucking years, it's about time I told him about this side of myself. So I start to speak, slowly making sure every word is precise.
    I tell him what happened last friday evening after I drove him home. How I broke down into tears and balled my eyes out, then before I even realized I had grabbed my knife and slowly started to make a cut. Then another and another and another. There were four in total and even though I pressed hard and made myself bleed, only the first one hurt. The other three just made me feel shittier about myself.
    By this point I had pulled away, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. I didn't want to see his face, I didn't want to know what he was thinking or feeling at this point.
    We sat there in silence for a moment, before he's curling into me, asking me why. Why? Because it makes me forget about reality for a moment, gives me control over something, keeps me from feeling completely and utterly numb, broken, dead. There are so many reasons why I did what I did.
    I ask him if he's okay. He's been so quiet since I've spoken, but he only replies with 'How would you feel if someone you care about started hurting themselves?' For a moment I can't help but think of another lighter blond that I cared for a while back. I've been on both sides of this coin. Still I answer 'sad, afraid, my heart would hurt for them.'
    We fall into silence, Aster still curled into me, while I continue to stare at the ceiling. At one point I start talking, why? Maybe because it was finally time to share a part of myself that is only ever hidden away on these pages, but I told him a bit of my struggle with depression. Around the time I first started cutting, why I did it, the thought process that went into it, my emotional state at the time and how eventually slowly I stopped.
    I don't remember the exact date of when I stopped but at one point I did. I remember I didn't just suddenly feel better, it was gradual and slow, but there were a few things in my life at that time that slowly helped me get out of my lonely pit.
    'You don't know this,' I said staring into the darkness, 'but at that time you were one of a couple of people that helped me stop.' Here I fell silent, unsure of what to say anymore. Aster starts to shake and I put my arms around him and rub his back, whispering that it's okay.
    I don't know why I told him it was okay, but after a few moments I spoke for a final time saying 'I regret what I did last week. And after feeling the way I did after. I know I'm never going to do it again.' A few moments later he calms and stands to go get tissues. No more words are exchanged and the next day he seems just a tad distant, but for once I push ahead and soon we're back to the way we were. Maybe just a teeny bit better than we used to be.

Locked Away

    It's dark outside. At lest I think it's dark outside. I don't have windows, not anymore, not after I cracked mine months ago. Then I pried a corner piece off and used it for relief.
    It took the nurses two weeks before they realized I'd relapsed into a new habit. Once they noticed thought they drugged me up for a week and threw me into solitary. They took me off the drugs after what felt like maybe a week, but I stayed in solitary for a month.
    I couldn't not take the drugs they handed me or else I would have started ripping my toe nails off. Anything to feel something, even if it's just pain. Finally they brought me back out to 'socialize' really by that point though they could have just left me in solitary.
    I'd pretty much turned into a mute by then, never speaking, only ever writing in a journal that never leaves my sight. They'll read it when I die. Try to decipher all the cryptic meanings and pointless symbolism. They'll think oh a birds mentioned, that must mean freedom was longed.
    Really though, I'm just tired of not feeling anything. I take the drugs they hand me to suppress the voices. but thier side effect is numbness. Guess it doesn't really matter if the only things I tend to feel are self-hatred and sadness. Still, this in my hands almost brings a smile to my slack face. In my hands is a hand made rope made from rags and pillowcases, tightly wound and tied together to be the base for my final act.
    Honestly, this was the easiest part of my two part plan. The second part involved getting screen time and trying to memorize how to do a hangman's knot without anyone noticing what I was really looking at. All tricky, it took over two weeks, but I finally did it. In my hands lay a sturdy hangman's knot and I knew that today i was finally going to feel.
    What though? Does it really matter? Regret, remorse, sadness, pain, I'd take anything by this point. There is little I care about. I secure the handmade rope, hang off of it for a moment to see if it won't snap immediately. It holds. I pull over my night stand, so it's right underneath and stand atop it.
    Shouldn't I feel some sort of hesitation or sadness? There's nothing though. I bring the rope over my neck, fasten it and stand on the edge. Aren't i suppose to have some deep and meaningful silent thoughts? But I can't, there's nothing to say. I've been here for what's felt like decades, I haven't seen family in forever and the only person I cared about is dead. There's nothing left to say. I tip over the table and immediately I feel the pressure on my wind pipe, before there's a snap.
    Two hours later a nurse walks in ready to hand over nr. 52 meds. Usual routine stuff, instead of finding the patient curled up in bed writing away in a secret journal, a cooling body hangs from a rope.
    Another soul gone from the world, because they didn't receive the help they needed. Instead they were locked away as to not disturb the normal people of the world.

Not ready yet

I'm not ready yet.

    For what you ask, well that has a lot of answers. I keep expecting something, from life from people from myself, but there's never anything to anticipate.
    Everything just continues to move forward while my mind keeps me from flowing with everything else. It's why I like watching birds, even though sometimes you can't stare straight at them because they'll get spooked.
    There's a lot in my neighborhood and thanks to a friend I've come to know a few of the species. There are wróbelki which are heard birds. So tiny, and where you'll see one, two more will be near by. They love to play in dirt and hid in bushes. They also don't migrate so you tend to see them all year.
    You also have kafki which are crow like birds that are very clever. They have this look in their eyes as if they were constantly thinking. They tend to get along (sometimes) with wrony which are pretty much crows with sleek black feathers and long dark beaks. The two species are both very cleaver and aren't as afraid of humans as wroble. I also love wrony because they're grey and black counterparts look like they're wearing a suite. The way they walk also makes it seem like they're constantly contemplating over something.
    So why do I enjoy watching birds? Because they always seem to know what they're doing. You've got the pigeons and they have two priorities food and fucking. It's the most obvious thing in the world for them, so sometimes I look towards birds to forget about all of my tiny world problems. I find it so easy to space out when I'm on a walk or observing things. Whether it's people or animals, maybe even just the city scape, my brain easily turns off. Sometimes I want to ask others if they can do this, because it seems like a weird thing to be able to do, but maybe it's not.
    Anyway I'm stalling. There's this thought on mind, maybe I'm being too open? Before I kept everything to myself, staying quiet and leaving things be as they are, but now I tend to speak up or say what's on my mind. I'm wondering if I should stop doing it as much as I do it. Saying things that are on my mind, telling people when I'm stressed or bothered. Because every time I do tell someone I feel like I'm expecting something from them. There's always this tiny feeling of dissatisfaction after, whether it's with myself or with the person is sometimes hard to say. At the same time I want to be close with people, but maybe by doing this I just push them away because I'm too open. It's something I don't really know how to deal with just yet.
    There's also all these thoughts that have piled up in my brain. Stupid silly things, but I always push them aside or tend to not acknowledge them, because it's easier that way. The most stupid one. Around either August or September I wrote a sort of heavy post. Talking about what life is for me. It was a bit of a depressing thing, but it's something that struck me really hard. I wanted to talk to Larkspur about it, but her only comment was 'You must have been really depressed that day.' I sort of deflated a little on the inside, because yes I hadn't been having a good day than, but in reality I still believe what i wrote.
    I don't think I'm ready to live with Aster yet. I never seem to know what to do with myself when he's here. Sure I tend to do stuff on my laptop, but I never just watch a shit ton of youtube videos, like I usually do, when he's here, doing his own thing. I'm unable to put on headphones and just listen to music while spacing out, like I sometimes enjoy doing. I don't watch the same Shane Dawson video for the fifth time, because I know it will cheer me up, nor do I do silly unnecessary sounds or movements that perk me up. I explain these away as having lazy days or taking in his aura since I only get to see him for a day, before it's a week without. So many silly excuses and I think it's gotten to the point where I'm not 100% myself anymore around him. Just a teeny part of myself, but it makes me wonder if I'm a liar. So maybe it's best that we don't live together yet. Not to mention my biggest fault.
    I'm selfish. I live in my own little world, so I tend to think about myself and my problems. You could blame it on partial isolation or my own depressive thoughts, but sometimes I just don't take others feelings into account. Whether it's my own thoughtlessness or a terrible understanding of the situation. I always somehow mess up. It's why I always say I'm a terrible person. And mean it.
    All of this is coming down to one thing. How do I be a good, balanced human being? One that's open with others, without over sharing. Someone that can talk about their difficulties, but makes sure not to overshadow others troubles. How do you show that you care about everyone close to you, but also remember to care about yourself?
    Maybe that's why I enjoy observing local birds. They know who they are, why they're here. They don't need to find that perfect balance that will make themselves happy with who they are while also making those close to them happy.
    If someone asked me if I was happy. I'd probably answer; can't complain.
Here though I'd probably say it depends on the weather, season and time of fucking day.  One thing is constant though, when evening rolls around I'm contemplative, occasionally perky, but when night falls. I just can't seem to force a muscle to move on my face.

I'm probably over thinking everything.

Just ignore all this bullshit please.

What have I done

For the first time ever I thought, maybe it was time. 

I've grown, I remember, I can go without. 

Even though I decided, I couldn't just drop it like magic, so I took it slow. 

Just a couple of hours, a single evening, nothing big.

 Baby steps.

It suddenly stopped being a reminder.

That only really lasted for a little while though.

How many years has it been? 

Honestly I don't know. 

Four years, maybe three? 

I don't know.

 All I know is that the cycle has been broken 

and I can no longer wonder if it's time to move forward, 

because I've fallen right back into my own personal pit of darkness.

I've stopped caring. 

About my clothes, my greasy hair, 

my weight, my skin, 

my mental stability. 

Those are all the last things on my mind these days. 

The stress from school, my own thoughts and insecurities these past few months have driven me right back into the darkness. 

I was never far from it. 

Tip-toeing it's edge, because that was the only way I could function. 

Unaware that I would eventually fall back in.

That's a lie.

I knew, 

I knew I would break 

and I put up so many obstacles to 

try to sway myself from falling again. 

But night time is always the time when I think too much. 

So I stood from my bed, after tossing and turning for over an hour,

 aware that sleep wouldn't come. 

I walked to that blasted fucking drawer opened it and took it out.

Just to hold it, 

I thought allowing the weight to comfort me, remind me. 

I should have stopped there instead I continued 

opening it, admiring it. 

I... I held it to my skin..... 

Just enough to feel pain, 

but not enough to break skin.

I did that for a few moments, before hiding it away,

 positive that that would keep me from going further.

I'm such a fool.

It's the following night. 

Again sleep is out of my reach, 

instead I jump from my bed looking for anything 

that will keep me from going into a full blown panic attack. 

I reach for the drawer.

This time my movements are done without thought, 

precise and calming.  

It's only when I feel skin break that I stop.

What have I done?

Why would I do this?

It's been so long, I was suppose to be better!

Why can't I get better....

The worst part in all of this is the shame I'm going to feel

 when my fail safes ask to see my hand.

 I don't want to see that look in their eyes.

 Pity, regret, disappointment?  

Either way I don't want to post this, 

because the first fail safe will see. 

Although I'm more afraid of the other one

 and who knows how long I can avoid their glances. 

I just wish the sadness wasn't so prominent. 

The stress so overbearing. 

My will so weak.

It's easy to fall into the darkness, 

but so much more difficult to escape it.

I'm such a fool.