For a week I’ve been living someone else’s life. Now I’m back to my own. Besides spoiled milk (a month old! Why do I do stuff like that to myself!?), a leaking fridge (how did that happen?) and dead flowers, everything was pretty much as usual. The blades ready, and my death wish present. Not that it ever went away.
I spent this week with a wonderful guy. He kissed me and told me I was wonderful. But I’m not. It’s a lie. He asked me if I was looking for something more. I told him I wasn’t. I mean, I liked him, but I’m not interested in a relationship. Not at all. Because I don’t deserve that.
I made sure that I was covered up at all times, and that the lights were off when I went to bed next to him. But one morning, he woke up and there was morning lights coming through the curtains. He saw some of my scars. He didn’t throw me out, or judge me, the way I expected. He asked me what had happened. He asked me if my life had been hard. He asked exactly the right things, said exactly the right things, accepted me, it seemed. So why couldn’t I accept his acceptance. Why do I cling to my isolation?
I see how life is good. I understand that it’s worth it. I even think it’s worth it just by thinking about my friends and my family, and by thinking of all the possibilities for my future. But then it’s not. It’s really not worth it. We should all die. There’s no point in living. But I can’t make that choice for others. If others find a meaning in their lives then good for them. And I know that my friends and family don’t want to die, so therefore there’s a point in living for me too, and my life is worth it, just based on the fact that the lives of those I love would be worse off without me (this isn’t something I believe, but it has been told to me as a fact, so I try to take that into consideration). So it’s worth it, right? But it’s not. I just want to die. I just want to die. I want to die. Hello? I want to die.
Someone save me if you will.
Or don’t. Because somehow your outstretched hands doesn’t reach mine. If someone told me the past week was a dream, I would believe them. It’s like looking at myself from above. I’m as distanced from my own life as I am from the lives on TV, maybe even more. Maybe I’m already dead.
Someone? Save me if you will.
Or don’t. Because I’ll act like a zombie and cling to the isolation that destroys me, and your saving will only be another push into the numbness of empty.
If I wasn’t already dead, I’d want to die.
And now I’ll spin into hysteria because the way you don’t exist is crazy. BLOOD. ❤ ❤ MUHAHA. Fuck this. What happened? Go to bed. Benzos ❤ Death? Oh yeah.