Last night I spent the majority of the night lying in my bed staring up at my dark ceiling and crying. Horrible, horrible thoughts would not leave my head. So I spent hours and hours lying on my back in tears and being ripped to shreds by my own mind. The few hours I did drift off I had some of the worst nightmares I’ve had yet, and soon woke up, crying.
Look, it’s not getting better. Everyone tells me to just ‘hang in there,’ because things must get better. Well, there’s an exception to every rule, and the exception seems to be me. Even now, when it seems things could not get much worse, they manage somehow.
I had two days where I felt ok. Two days where I didn’t feel rising hate (or at least not so strongly) when I passed a mirror, two days where I didn’t want to die, two days when my mood was not utterly hopeless. But it was just another way of things getting worse. A reminder of what I’m not getting, what my life isn’t. And then plunged back into the darkness, now with an all-the-more-clear picture of just how miserable I am. And that just makes it worse.
I hate myself, I hate who I am. I’m not the Emma most of you became friends with long ago. She’s just gone. I can tell you the story of how she’s slowly died over the past few years, but it would be ruled false I’m sure, and what I deserved. What matters is that she’s completely gone now. All those traits are no longer there. If you are thinking back and objecting, you’re wrong. It’s called a faÃ§ade. I can still imitate, to a point, who I once was, but it’s nothing but empty words because I feel bad for those who have to be around me, and don’t want to subject them to the blackness I feel all the time. I’m ashamed of who I am now, and I feel I’m shaming the memory of the Emma that once was. I know that when people tell me that they like me, that they’d miss me, and all that, they’re talking about the old Emma, or the faÃ§ade, and it hurts, because that’s not really me anymore.
I’m drained. I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of lack of happiness. I’m tired of ‘hanging in there’ only for things to get worse. I’m tired of being reminded of how swimmingly it seems everyone else’s lives are going. It’s an exhaustion I don’t expect anyone to understand. I’m ready to quit. All that did matter is broken, desecrated, or taken away. I’m not strong enough to sit and be ok while all of this goes on. It hurts too much, and it has hurt too long.
Last weekend I gave the world a second chance after I had planned not to come back. And for those two days it seemed like maybe it was worth it, even if for all the wrong reasons. From what people tell me, staying alive for the wrong reasons is still better than dying. But it all comes crashing down, and now I just want the weekend to come again, but for all the wrong reasons. I gave it a week, I gave it a chance, and I got a taste of happiness, then a slap in the face and a chorus of mocking laughs.
I don’t really understand why people get so upset about me going away. Your lives will go on, the good things will continue, you will still reach your goals and have your loves, you will move on. Life will still be good for you, so why be upset? I honestly don’t comprehend…