N.E.C

It’s a 80, 20 really,

There’s no dramatic confession with tears rolling down my face.

The statement on its own does not move me anymore . I’ve become numb and it kills me to watch my light burn out more and more with each passing year.

It’s a slow death that has foreshadowed my life.

It plays in my head everyday, it consumes me most days.

Some say I need to take pills to cure it, I’m sure that would help.

Everyday I barder with myself, is my friends worth leaving, my family ?, my cats?

I think of the trades offs daily.

“They’ll go to a better home, they’ll become closer in my absence.”

If I was on pills who’s to promise that could fix everything and that the months of struggling to find the right meds wouldn’t induce a different type of being that I do not want ethier.

A numbness to which I know like an old friend or cigarettes after aggressive sex with a stranger.

I’m sick of struggling while I cannot afford to eat, disappointed in partners while hungry and poor. All I want is to drink and forget I’m starving, and broke. I want to forget I am so deeply hurt by people I love genuinely, consistently, almost as if the world chips and sculpts into marble saying I deserve that.

I’m not sure what I did. Maybe I did something irredeemable as a child or teenager I cannot recall.

I could work harder but it’s a struggle to walk all day without pain, it’s a struggle to sit for long without pain. It’s even harder to have the mental energy to want that.

I try to hard and I have for years to fight for that sheer animal inside me to want it everyday like everyone else seems too want, this quote unquote “beautiful struggle” that is life.

Has my whole life not been that?

When will it become beautiful and less draining?

When will it get better, when will I be seen and heard and understood.

When can I stop asking for help

Is it even worth it to keep trying…

Ŵħáț ìf ťħìş ìș ǎļļ ìļļ ħàvè.