Who cares?

I always feared that I will become invisible, once I become happy. The continuous experience of suffering mental health relapses deeply ingrained the idea that being damaged is as an institutional part of myself. I build a whole concept of self consciousness around my trauma and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I created an aesthetic of suffering, pain and tragedy, wore my wounds as an armor. Consequences were irrelevant, when I was focused on surviving day by day, but eventually the sun came back into my life and I found reason. I fell in love with love (hmu in 1-2 years for the usual bitter realization that love is no healing but an anesthetic). Unfortunately as I got better, I lost myself along the way. What is left of me, once the illness becomes silent for a while? Suddenly I have to make plans for life, when in the first place I didn't even intend to live to this point in time. It's tempting to fall into old habits. Suffering is a purpose in its own, it fills your days, your mind and everyday's mission is to ease the pain for a while no matter what. Death is less terrifying, when life is a burden. And let me tell you, death is FREAKING terrifying, once you found joy in life. Am I really about to sabotage myself?

lonelieness and confusion take up big parts of my brain again. brain fog makes it hard to focus on studies. i don’t want it to be bad again, i don't want to lie awake at night, wondering how to keep on. i dont know why i got better in the first place but whatever it was, it’s wearing off. maybe being in love numbed my pain for a while, but apparently it kept on growing like a tumor, which is now taking me down. how many times am i supposed to go through the same shit again and again and again. it’s madness.