Next to no one

It’s 1am and I find myself questioning whether I’m lying in this bed because I want to or because the high from your appreciation and gentle touch somehow makes the pain disappear, and it’s not really wanting it, but desperately needing it. And does that mean I’m really the one who’s using you, and not the other way around. Does this make me weak, easy, a bad human being? Does this mean I’m compromising who I am and what I’m willing to do, because I’m too starved of feeling wanted, liked and valued? I think I want it because I want it, but how can I really know? And the worst of it all: No matter how many people love me, adore me, appreciate me, want me, need me … It will never be enough, because I can’t feel it.




Sunday morning, winter’s here

Is 7.50pm. It still feels like morning though. It still feels like winter.

Is there any one point in my past where making a different choice would’ve changed the outcome of my world. If I had just chosen not to be a smartass (not really a smartass, but good at school), maybe I never would’ve been bullied. If I had chosen to ask my parents to get me some professional help when I was 13, maybe I wouldn’t have become so depressed. If I had thrown all the pieces of shattered glass into the trash, maybe I wouldn’t have become a “cutter”. If I had just brushed it off, held my head high, and kept going after the things I wanted, maybe I would’ve been there by now.


But I can dream about that. Dream that I finished high school with the rest of my peers at 19, smiling, hoping, laughing about my future. So happy to have the summer of my life, and then heading off to uni. By now I would be 4 years into my masters. I would’ve had 2 different summer jobs, by now. 2 summers working as a cleaner at the hospital (boring!), and 2 summers as an assistant at the district long-term psychiatric ward. Uni would’ve been super stressful. I was going for head of the class as always, making sure I was noticed by the lecturers, maybe they would give me some good references. I would’ve been far on my way to becoming someone who would make a change in the world. I would soon be able to make a difference. And by volunteering once a week at the local church’s outreach program I would already be making a difference. My boyfriend wouldn’t have to cope with extreme mood swings and a girl that was always covered up because of the endless scars. I would be vibrant, alive, loved.

It’s strange to think about the life I could’ve had. Because the life I dreamt of, thought of, and planned … it’s so extremely far away from the life I have today. Maybe some of my dreams still can come true? Maybe I’ll have what I wrote of above, just that I’ll be 30 instead of 22. Maybe.

But most likely: No. Most likely my past, and my present, will haunt me for the rest of my life. Most likely this depression will be back regularly, stopping by, making sure my life never gets too cosy.

But you know what? Fuck it. YES, mots likely it will check up on me regularly, but if I survive this, I can have sunbeams in my life. And I will cherish them. If I live (something I don’t want! but IF I do) I will cherish the periods I’m not suffering. I will cherish making a difference, even if it’s not on a grand scale, but only on a really really small one.

I promise you, if you keep going, it will get better, and you will get moments that will make it worth it.