Crawling.

Inner struggles of a 15 year old psycho.

The explanation of it all is simple.
"Why'd you take the pills?"
I don't know.
"Why'd you want to die?"
I don't know.
"Why do you hate your life?"
"I don't know Dr.Ramirez, get a new topic and quit making me waste my breath!"
It seemed like an endless string of lies was being pulled out of my lungs with all the strength I had left.The fear of being alone was too much, and I had to stop it.
The addictions, the cutting, the endless river of tears that seemed to flow as free out of my eyes, just as the screams and racks of sobs from my lungs; yet through all the screaming, yelling, and demands to be heard, it appeared nobody was listening.
The drugs stopped the sadness, the cutting stopped the guilt after I had come down; the tears just never stopped at all.I long for the feeling to not feel at all, the higher I get, the farther from grace I fall.
I can't drown these fears, they figured how to swim. In my room that night, I remember pretending to be asleep as I listened to my mother and father both discussed how to save me, their youngest child.
"She's daddy's angel. I swear I can see her halo Dani." he choked through tears.
What's funny, is the halo they had discussed; was slipping and turning into a noose. It was digging deeper and deeper in to my throat, trying to suffocate me just like the walls do, only oh so often.
The insanity of it all, was this; I could hear the silence, I could taste the end, and I could feel myself slipping.
I know I would never jump, so why can't I step back from the ledge? Was I losing control?
I had to stop, to pull myself out of that whole I had dug, and fix myself; and then I found out how hard it really is to really change. Even hell can get comfortable once you've settled in.I just wanted the numb inside me to leave; but no matter how high you get, its always there when you come back. The thing is; all I wanted, I already had. There are glimpses of heaven in everyday, in the friends I have, the things I've created and how far I've come? I just had so much space to grow.
The fragile, the broken, they were so easily repaired; but can anyone save my b*****d soul, or am I too far to dive in after?Everyone wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die.
The emptiness inside our heads is evidently presenting itself, but nobody dares to dwell.
That's another funny thing about depression; nobody wants to acknowledge it. It's like an unfriendly, unwanted, unimportant ghost hiding in the darkest closet, until all the questions are slammed into my head a million times a day like a brick being thrown aimlessly by a child.
"How are you on a scale? Can you tell me what you've done? Do you wanna talk about it? How does that make you feel? Have you ever pressed a blade to your wrist? Have you been skipping meals? We're gonna try something new today, how does that make you feel?"
It makes me feel like a blubbering baby with no motor skills to explain to you what's happening.
How can I explain its my fault he's gone? How can I ever explain to his mother that on September 11th 2014, her son attempted to kill himself, with no attempt from me to save him, like he had done for me so many times? He would never be the same; he never got the chance to be saved.
On 9/11 everyone was talking about the twin towers, yet all I could think about was how I could've done things differently. Odds are, had I reached out, he would've been by my side laughing with me at all the dumb jokes we made about our new teachers we had met.
Only 15, and already destroying myself.
~
It's unlikely that anyone reads this, but if anyone does happen to stumble across it by some chance, that was almost a year ago.
Since then, it's better. I can manage to suppress crying, and on the day I wrote this, I am damn near seven months clean.
I haven't picked up a pill or a blade; the fear is still there. The fear of change, aging, living, and failing as well as succeeding.
Now I just understand that this is a part of my story. I am not weak, broken, damaged, nor am I in to deep to be saved. I believe that once I realized nobody could save me, I made a change.
Nobody was coming to save me; I am not a princess like I was told growing up.
False promises, and insight into my inner child, would make or break me.
I had managed to climb out from the hell I had created for myself, on my hands and knees. Living is a gift, and I firmly believe that.
The life I lead now, isn't necessarily orthodox, but it is my life. The comfort I take in the control I've gained, is so much more than the consolation I ever received from a pill, or a blade.
The painful numbness was gone, and the screams got silenced by an unbreaking smile I had managed to plaster to my face.I never want to go back to that.
( 9/24/15)