depression.

depression is the opposite of love.

deep futility.

every emotion is numb.

you can’t feel pleasure or pain. you can’t remember what emotions felt like. you can’t imagine how it is possible to feel anything but the way you are feeling. if you remember what normal felt like, you could perhaps reach for it. but you don’t. your state knows no other state, cannot even guess that there are other ways to feel.

there is no energy, turning your head takes conscious effort. if there were a magic pill to make you feel completely better, and you have to cross to room to get the pill, you cannot do it. it’s a weight of chains around your neck.

this is what you have, this is who you are. you will be this way all your life. you get better but it never lasts.

feeling better is stressful, because you are walking along the edge of the abyss, going around and around the circumference, waiting for the inevitable slip. does love matter? can you care how someone feels when your life is this way? do you have time for morality, for empathy, for love, for how others feel?

and then it happens. you fall.

it’s happened so many times that you don’t even panic. you smile wryly, here we go. when you are falling backwards into a blackness, and you are looking at the world spinning and receding away from you, watching your love and your relationship and your work and your body and your self-worth spiraling away, does it matter that someone loves you?

you tell people that you love that you never have thoughts of suicide. but it isn’t true, is it?

nothing left to cry about

if the world could do one truly magnificent thing for me, right now, it would be to make me cry. i am weeping on the inside, but the tears are all gone or simply won't come.i see things in this world that should inspire me to totally lose it, to drop to my knees and make me ask, "why" i see them daily, almost hourly. the parent who snaps angrily at their curious child, the teenaged fool who loses his mind after taking 12 hits of acid in 2 days, the alcoholic who spends his entire day at the bar and then decides to drive home.

i see these things and i don't react. it's not because i'm desensitised to it. on the contrary, i'm writhing in agony within myself because i witness the subtle cruelties we deal ourselves without a second thought.it makes me want to cry, but i can't. i've tried. i'm not concerned about how weak it makes me look or how long such a cry could last. i see these things and i stop and think about them, very carefully. in almost every situation i can see the root fo the problem, the reason for these attrocities. the reasons i come up with may not always be 100% correct, but they're reasonable enough for all the mystery to evaporate. that most powerful of human muscles, the brain, kicks out an answer and all the intrigue and confusion disappears.tears and crying are symptoms of fear and confusion.

the world is dying in some way that i can't put my finger on and here i am, seeing it happen in front of my eyes, and i'm not crying. i'm just sitting back and watching the show, recording it.
perhaps I feel, deep down, that to cry would be to send the world on its way to the hell that's its made for itself and be done with it. perhaps i don't want to the world to fade away just yet, like the fading memories of travesties excised upon one another. maybe letting go of those tears would be letting go of the world, and myself.

i am in control. i want to lose control. i want to cry.

madness.

i have studiously tried to avoid ever using the word 'madness' to describe my condition. now and again, the word slips out, but i hate it. 'madness' is too glamorous a term to convey what happens to most people who are losing their minds. that word is too exciting, too literary, too interesting in its connotations, to convey the boredom, the slowness, the dreariness, the dampness of depression.

every second beats like an ache.

cancer.

during chemo and radiotherapy, you're more tired than you've ever been. it's like a cloud passing over the sun, and suddenly you're out. you don't know how you'll answer the door when your groceries are delivered. but you also find that you're stronger than you've ever been. you're clear. your mortality is at optimal distance, not up so close that it obscures everything else, but close enough to give you depth perception. previously, it has taken you weeks, months, or years to discover the meaning of an experience. now it's instantaneous.

love is disposable.

i dont believe in love, just like i dont believe in santa claus or the tooth fairy. the idea that there is one person in the world who is perfect for me seems as absurd to me as cinderella going to the ball or sleeping beauty being awoken by prince charming.

the reason i feel like that of course lies in my past. i guess everyone is a product of their experiences and i for one am no exception. everyone who has said they ever loved me either lied, died, or didn't know me in the first place. anyone would be cynical under those circumstances, infact i'd be foolish not to be.

when the person you love the most in the world kills themself, you kind of give up on love. i used to believe that everyone has one soulmate, but that myth died when mine blew his face off with an antique luger pistol. seeing your lovers brains splashed across the covers of the bed you were having sex in hours earlier is probably the makings of lifelong insecurity. the realisation that life and love is as changeable as the seasons. that one person is as disposable as the next.

non emo!

i've been described as abrasive, opinionated, a man-hater, cold and too much like a man. some are true, some aren't. i have a brain and i've never been afraid to use it.

i don't discriminate based on race, color or your religion. i discriminate based on what's in, or not in, your head, and how you use it. if there is only empty space, please stay away from me. i don't go out of my way for confrontation, but neither will i avoid it. if you insist on staying in my face, i have no problem telling you exactly what i think of you.

if your way of climbing the corporate ladder is by being a brown-noser, yes-person, back-stabber, or by using your looks or body, you deserve what you get. don't expect me to give you the time of day. Iihave too much to do in this life to waste even a minute of it on people like you.
being good looking or having a great body, man or woman, won't win you any brownie points with me. it's what you have inside that matters. that doesn't mean you can't be good looking or have a great body, just that it won't have any bearing on the ultimate determination of your worth.

i value hardworking, honest, straightforward people who aren't afraid to tell it like it is, who make their own way and don't go along just to get ahead. i value people who aren't afraid to stand their ground even if it isn't popular. i value people who have the strength of their own convictions and the balls to do something about it.

i wasn't put here to make you feel good. i'm not here to boost your ego. yhis is how i have lived my life since i was old enough to think for myself. i've never had to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. i like who i am, even if i dont like my life.

already dead

in one week i'll have beaten cancer.

i'm not frightened in the least bit at the thought that i will live because i am certain, quite certain, that i am already dead. the actual dying part, the withering away of my physical body, is a mere formality. my spirit, my emotional being or whatever you want to call all that turmoil that has nothign to do with physical existence, is long gone, dead and gone.

i wonder if anyone can tell from just looking at me that all i am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal.it might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she cant be retrieved. what if i am stuck here for good?

the facade

i feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that i may just start to show through. i wish i knew what was wrong. maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. i don’t know. why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on? i don’t know the answer, i know only that I can’t. i don't want any more vicissitudes, i don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. i just want out. i’ve had it. i am so tired. i am twenty three and i am already exhausted

fade to black.

i'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background.

i am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. when you look at the picture again, i want to assure you, i will no longer be there. i will be erased from history, like a traitor in the soviet union. because with every day that goes by, i feel myself becoming more and more invisible...

what i am not.

i wanted to start by telling you who i am, but the truth is that i have no idea. i know that i'm not like most people, because most people have feelings, and for most of my life i've not really felt anything.

i've tried to be like everyone else. i look like everyone else, talk like everyone else, go to the corner shop to get the milk like everyone else, but theres something missing. its something so primal and deep that it leaves a hollow space where that part of me should be.

i've never known who i am, yet at the same time i have always known what i'm not.

i'm not like you.

i spent the first 23 years of my life just existing, but i want to spend the rest of my life living.