Entry from November 23, 2024. 3:10am.
my therapist is not there for me
tldr: pity, pity, loathing.
nothing good is going to come. i wonāt let it. i canāt let my family know, calling at 2 in the morning to let them know iām ready to die. theyāre two thousand miles away, what good will it do? to worry them and they canāt do anything. let alone afford the cost.
to let them know where to reach my dog. donāt worry, his food is packaged in the fridge. please donāt worry. the photos you send me, youāre smiling brighter when iām not around. youāll still be fine. we only meet once or twice a year. you will be fine. i havenāt been fine. the meds work, but i donāt. i canāt cry. i canāt cut myself, it is painful. i burn myself instead. itās quicker and cleaner. why do i think this way? why do these thoughts help and comfort me? why canāt my future take hold? why? why do i go from hot to cold in matter of seconds, the way someone changes their expression when they look at me, fills me with a kind of dread iām not sure is reasonable. i want to be home. but i donāt know if the pain will even stop.
i thought if i poured myself into someone else, iād be happy. and i was. but the jealousy, the envy, just the absolute anger i harbored in myself, i hurt them. i havenāt a friendship that lasted so long as theirs. if i call the hotline, where will my dog go? how will i know which numbers to call when they take my phone away and my work calls, maybe my family. they never call anyway. once every two weeks. my father reaches out far more than ever since my last incident. itās more upsetting that heās the closest thing to me, since he was the cause for all the pain in my family. all of the anger. the fights. the cops who said we should be proud. i should feel shame that he is the one who always reaches out. the woman said she was in the car with her kids. heās repeating the cycle, with another family.
actually this morning, my brother called me for the first time in his life. iāve always been the one to call him on the telephone. i thought something was terribly wrong, yet he called. nothing was wrong. i thought he was hiding something. nothing. he just had time to kill. it was intense and i was scared, heās never called before, but im glad he did.
these thoughts get worse around these times. i wish i can fly to an oasis, binge drink and pretend nothing exists. time has no meaning and life is just this warm beach and iām drowsy from the sun. but iām here. how pitiful.
writing feels good. this is a release, an outlet with no outcome. iām happy right here. calm. but after i close this, i canāt write anymore and my thoughts become too much and i come back here. repeating the cycle. making sure there isnāt a permanent outcome. good. sweet and good. lock it away until next time.
andulkaphoto
romaincrisis
2087
gracieabrams
titsay
origamiaround
pixelskylines